


BORN VILLAIN

by whokilledcodyosmond



Series: BORN VILLAIN [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Anxiety Disorder, Assault, Awkward Stiles, Child Abuse, Crimes & Criminals, Dark Derek, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt Stiles, M/M, No Werewolves, Non Consensual, Organized Crime, Panic Attacks, Piercings, Punk!Stiles, Robbery, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, Slow Build, Tattoos, Therapy, Unhealthy Relationships, criminal!Derek, hacker!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:46:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 110,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whokilledcodyosmond/pseuds/whokilledcodyosmond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a troubled young hacker at odds with his father, the Chief of Police in Beacon City.  After a chance meeting with a handsome but dangerous man, he learns it isn't always obvious who the bad guys are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hey, Cruel World...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the center of the universe  
> cannot exist  
> when there are  
> no edges
> 
> (i am among no one)

"I hate you. I can't believe you're doing this to your own son."

Sheriff John Stilinski looked down at his sullen child, fifteen years of age, and glowered right back him. "Don't even try that with me. We didn't have to go this route but you won't listen. Someday you'll thank me for this, because if I didn't love you so much I wouldn't give a damn. I'd let you run around in the streets with those ...hoodlums you think are your friends. I've tried, son, again and again to overlook the absences from school, the smoking, the vandalism, and now this? How do you think that affects my job? And what would your mother say?"

The boy broke the staring contest between them if only for the bright, gleaming sun behind his father and looked down at his favorite red sneakers, his whole body vibrating with anger. "She wouldn't say anything," he muttered under his breath. "Because she's not here."

"Well it stops now. You're going to stay here as long as it takes for you to realize what you're doing to yourself and your future." When he received no response except a roll of the eyes, the sheriff sighed, feeling an ache of emotional exhaustion as he continued to drag his reluctant child by the hand towards the large, stone building.

Wrought in iron, the title of 'ELMOND HOUSE FOR BOYS' was spelled out above the front gates for all to see, crowning the tall fence surrounding the property. It looked like the manor of some wealthy, European socialite: all bright brick with a black shingled roof. The lawns rolled out from it, dotted with shrubbery here and there but otherwise perfectly manicured as though not a blade of grass was out of line. A fountain sat in the middle, surrounded by the paved paths and a few pristine benches.

The boy surveyed it all with distaste, idly watching the small figures in the distance move unhurried about the grounds. He knew his father was speaking to him again in that stern tone that the sheriff thought was intimidating- and maybe it was on other people, but his son was immune to it and tuned him out easily. As they reached their destination, the front gates parted and the sheriff dropped his son's hand in order to fish out his badge and ID for the man in the booth.

"Stilinski, was it? Hmm," the man behind the glass thumbed through a thick ledger, licking his finger as he took John's identification through the slot at the bottom of the window. "There you are, just sign here on this part and I'll let Doctor Carson know you've arrived. You can head towards the front doors and he'll meet you there."

"Thank you," the sheriff answered as his iron grip returned to his son's wrist. "Come on."

The boy scowled, not bothering to fight the human manacle urging him towards the building now looming over them. As they got closer he tried one last time to change his father's mind, his pride faltering enough to reach the point of begging. "Dad. Dad, please don't do this. I'll be good, I promise. I know it's hard to believe with my track record but I'll try, I'll try my hardest." He willed as hard as he could for tears to fall but only succeeded in a watery sort of look. In his mind he shrugged. Ah well, I can work with this.

The sheriff looked down at him, not convinced the least bit. "Son, that might have worked after the first few skips, or the time I caught you with a cigarette in your mouth, or even the shopping cart incident-"

"Which totally wasn't my fault, Eddie Stevens was the one who-" the boy interrupted, free hand gesturing wildly as he tried to make his case.

"Enough!" His father snapped. "The point is, it's your fault you're where we are now. You're going to have to learn to accept responsibility for your actions if you want to function like a normal person in this world. And you're going to start learning that today." He cut the lecturing short as a sharp looking man in a navy suit approached them, his stride confident and purposeful.

Perhaps in his early fifties, only a smattering of grey in his hair gave any indication to his age. He wore an easy smile, reaching out with an open hand offered to John. "Sheriff Stilinski? I'm Doctor Carson and I run this establishment. A pleasure to finally meet you man to man!" As the men shook, the doctor looked down at the boy before him with a wink. "And you must be- ah, I'm terribly sorry. I'm not quite sure how to pronounce this."

"He goes by Stiles," the sheriff intervened hastily. "His Mom had ...unusual tastes."

"I see, very good then. Nice to meet you, Stiles," the man offered his hand but withdrew it after a few awkward seconds of receiving nothing in return except a sneer and an apologetic look from John. The doctor cleared his throat and turned, beckoning them to follow him inside. "My office is on the second floor. I can give you both a quick tour, if you like?"

"We'd like that very much. Wouldn't we, Stiles?" The sheriff shot his son a pointed look.

"Golly gee, good old Dad, I'd like that ever so much." Stiles said with a blast of sarcastic enthusiasm.

Doctor Carson laughed heartily as they walked through the front doors. "I see we've got a lively one. Well to start off, this is the reception area-"

"Wow, never would've guessed. Hey, what are you a doctor of anyway?" Stiles interrupted, smiling sweetly at his father as he suddenly grilled their tour guide.

"Philosophy," The doctor gave a curt answer and continued on, unperturbed at the rudeness. "Mrs. Stone usually takes care of things here in this area but we've hit a bit of a financial bump, you see. We only have a skeleton crew working here on the weekends, thus why things are nice and quiet here this afternoon. Now, flanking reception are the East and West wings of the building. In the East wing are the dormitories, and we have our kitchen and cafeteria in the West. Staff quarters and classrooms are on the top floor."

They began climbing the large staircase that curled around over the front desk. Stiles had to admit (though he would never say so out loud unless under pain of death) the building was pretty cool in an old museum-y sort of way. The hardwood floors and deeply colored wallpapers looked like something out of a period piece, the innards had obviously been lovingly restored over the years.

Doctor Carson must have caught his wandering gaze. "I see a young man with an aesthetic appreciation," he exclaimed, his observance coaxing a frown to appear on the young Stilinski's face. "It's a wonderful old place, isn't it?. The original framework was erected sometime in the 1800s but the building itself has had many identities. It was the site of a thriving plantation, an eventual hideaway for civil war soldiers, and then Richard Elmond bought it a little more than a century ago. He planned to keep it for himself until one day he was in the town nearby and saw hordes of abandoned, troubled children. The sight moved him so, and he donated the whole plot of land to the community, helping them start up Elmond House." He laughed, shaking his head as they came to the top of the steps. "Or so the story goes, it does seem a little romantic, does it not?"

John shrugged. "I've met a few people like that in my line of work. It's refreshing when people want to help each other just for the sake of doing some good."

The doctor gave a wry smile, unlocking a door with a key he pocketed afterwards. "Indeed. Well, here's my office, Mr. Stilinski. Shall we?"

"Yes, of course," John replied, turning to face his son with a wary look. "Stiles, I'm going to talk to Doctor Carson-"

"I know, dad. I'm not deaf, I'm right here." The boy sighed melodramatically.

The sheriff touched his forehead, feeling a migraine coming on in his exasperation. "Just stay out of trouble and don't go far. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Stiles answered dryly.

**************************************************

As the door closed behind the two adults, Stiles sat down on a bench across the hall and waited. He tapped his foot against the floor, boredom quickly setting in. Every now and then one of the residents would pass by and all them shared the same odd characteristics: the boys would shoot him a curious glance, then as if remembering something important quickly cast their eyes to the floor and hurried along until they disappeared around a corner. Try as he might, Stiles couldn't hold their gaze for more than a second. He even waved once and the young boy flinched and all but fled down the hall.

Just as the tedium was about to reach his breaking point, the office door opened and the two men stepped out, once again shaking hands.

"Thank you again for taking him on such short notice. I'll be in touch soon." The sheriff turned to appraise his son as the doctor looked on, mildly interested.

"Not a problem, John. You have my personal number, please call anytime with any concerns or inquiries. I can fax you a copy of my reports as well if you'd like to stay up-to-date?"

John nodded. "That would be great." He pulled Stiles into a hug, choosing to ignore the way his son squirmed uncomfortably at his touch. "I know I'm wasting my breath, but please try to behave while you're here. I think if you really give Doctor Carson a chance you can- ...just give it a chance, okay?"

Stiles snorted, twisting out of his father's arms. "Dad, come on. It's not like I'm going to be here that long anyway." He narrowed his eyes at the expressions of the adults before him: the thin line of the sheriff's mouth and the twinkle of ...something in the older man's eyes. "I'm not going to be here that long, right?" A sudden thread of unease began to wind up inside his stomach, his voice quiet and serious in an instant.

"Look, it may seem like a long time but Doctor Carson says there's no reason why you can't leave earlier with good behavior. It's only six months at most, I promise."

"SIX MONTHS? SIX MONTHS, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Stiles yelled, panic exploding like a firework. "You're not serious! I- I, no! No! I'm not staying here for half a year!"

"Yes, you are." The Sheriff said firmly. "Until you can prove to me you've learned respect for the law and for yourself."

The boy scoffed, violently trembling with several emotions at once. "You don't want me anymore, is that it? Mom would never-"

"Your mother isn't here, remember?" John cut him off, voice taking on an icy tone at the mention of his late wife. "I'll see you in six months. I love you." With a last nod to Doctor Carson, he turned and began the descent down the staircase.

"DAD! WAIT, DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!" Stiles made to pursue his father as he walked away but a hand that felt like the talon of a stone gargoyle clamped down on his small shoulder, painfully rooting him in place. "DAD!" The sheriff didn't look back, and after a few moments the sound of the front doors opening and closing echoed in the silence as Stiles blinked away the sudden tears that threatened to fall. He fought to keep from crying as the man tightened his grip and spoke in a cold voice.

"Well, young Stilinski, before I show you to your quarters I'd like to have a little chat first, make sure we understand each other." He steered the boy into his office, motioning him to a chair seated in front of a large, oak desk as he locked the door behind them with a click that made Stiles' anxiety spike further.

Doctor Carson loomed over him silently for what seemed like an age, leaning against the front of his desk with his arms crossed and an emotionless expression. He finally spoke in a flat, low voice- a far cry from the warm, grandfatherly facade he had presented to the sheriff only minutes ago. "From what I can see and what your father's told me, you seem to have some issues with authority. Well, let me tell you how things work at Elmond House. I am the only authority here and I take that job very, very seriously. Be aware that my goal, is to help you learn your place in a proper society in addition to the regular curriculum. If your behavior begins to hinder that goal, you will be punished until it does not any longer. Do you understand?"

Stiles sneered, indignation winning out over his fear at being left alone with strangers in an unfamiliar setting. "What are you gonna do old man, send me to my room?"

Like lightning, Carson's hand suddenly made contact with Stiles' face with a loud smack. The force behind the swing was almost enough to knock the boy to the floor. He rocked back into the chair, tears springing from his eyes at the blow.

"I do not tolerate being talked back to, young man. When I ask you a question, you will answer without hesitation. Otherwise you will be punished accordingly. Ordinarily I'd take you straight downstairs for such disrespect, but you've only just arrived so accept that as a generosity on my part."

Stiles was stunned, head pounding as he felt around his eye gingerly. "You- you can't do that, I'm just a- a kid!" He whimpered, gasping for breath as Carson grabbed him by the throat, squeezing and shaking him in his seat.

"'Just a kid'? I think not. If you were 'just a kid', you'd be doing your homework and respecting your elders. Kids don't ruin other's property, smoke those vile cigarettes, or participate in manslaughter. Oh yes, that's right. Your dear father informed me what finally pushed him to drop you into my lap. Killing a sweet old lady in her own home, Stilinski? You're no child- you're on your way to being a right proper criminal. But we can turn you from that path yet." The doctor released him roughly, cracking his fingers menacingly as the boy inhaled a shaky breath.

Stiles glared at the floor silently, eyes wet and skin reddened from the abuse. He willed himself not to scream out all the thoughts running through his head, already deciding that the man he was dealing with was definitely a sociopath. He took another shuddering breath before muttering through tightly clenched teeth. "I didn't kill anyone."

Doctor Carson scoffed. "It hardly matters to me, boy. In the eyes of the law though, you were an accessory and thus you are just as guilty as the murderous little thugs themselves." He grabbed Stiles by his thick hair and gave a yank towards the door, humming to himself as the boy gave a yelp at the sharp pain. The doctor unlocked the door and nudged it open. One of the other boys appeared to have been walking by, but if the intelligent gleam in his eye and the knowing glance he was quick to conceal was any indication, Stiles was betting he was attempting to listen at the door.

"Ah, Mr. Mahealani, what fortunate timing you have. How would you like to show our newest guest to his quarters and help him get squared away? I believe he'll be rooming with you, actually." The man smiled without warmth and the eavesdropping boy's eyes flickered from the shark-like grin to the ugly bruise already forming around Stiles face.

"Of course, Sir." The boy looked down at his feet as he spoke, nervously shifting his weight.

"Wonderful. You can have the rest of the day to familiarize yourself with the building grounds. Mr. Mahealani will tell you everything you need to know. Off you go, boys." As Stiles quickly moved away to follow the boy who was already inching away, the doctor spoke again. "One more thing, Stilinski. Report to my office at nine sharp before you retire for the evening, and don't be late. That's all." With that ominous command the doctor retreated back into the office, locking the door behind him.

Both boys let out a breath laced with the same tension. Stiles opened his mouth to speak but the other boy shook his head and motioned to the staircase, walking forward and leaving Stiles to trail him. Stiles studied him as they went down step by step. He looked like he was at least a few years older than Stiles. Short, brown hair. Olive skin. He wore a white collared shirt and light grey pants that both looked well worn. Figures Dad would find a place that makes you wear a uniform. His head swiveled around like he was constantly keeping watch. It was only when they reached the bottom and put a healthy distance between themselves and Carson that the boy turned and spoke as they walked.

"I'm Danny," he said in an unexpectedly soft voice.

"Stiles." Stiles nodded in greeting, realizing his face was still slick with tears and rubbing at them self-consciously.

"So," Danny started in the same gentle tone, averting his eyes from Stiles. "You gave Carson some lip?"

The battered boy snorted, feeling himself blush faintly and hating it. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Big mistake, Stiles. Some free advice? Just avoid him as much as you can. Don't give him anything to mess with you about."

"Dude, he's already requesting my presence and I just got here." Stiles sighed, wincing at the tender flesh as he tried to assess the damage with gently probing fingertips.

Danny shrugged, motioning to an upcoming door. "He'll get bored of you eventually. No offense." He added sheepishly at the indignant look he received. "It's just how he operates."

As the pain faded to a dull ache, Stiles' anger flared and grew. "He can't get away with this!"

"Stiles."

"No! Fuck that! You can't go around hitting on kids and get away with it! We need to call the cops. My dad's a cop! Where are the phones? Where-"

"Stiles, listen to me," Danny pleaded quietly. "You can't call the police on Carson. Not even your dad."

"Why the hell not?" The boy demanded angrily, the loudness of his demand making Danny wince.

"We've already tried. Carson beat someone up pretty bad a few months back and the poor guy actually managed to use the secretary's phone while she went to the bathroom."

"And?"

Danny sighed heavily. "And nothing. They don't believe anything we say, Stiles. Carson gives them any excuse and they eat it up no problem. We either 'do it to ourselves' or 'each other for attention', or 'to get out of here', whatever he feels like saying."

"My dad wouldn't fall for that." Stiles said, voice quiet and suddenly void of it's previous fire. "He wouldn't." Or would he? That kindly grandfather bullshit was pretty slick.

"Maybe not, but it's not worth the risk. Trust me. After the cops left it got rough for a while. Really rough- for all of us." He shook his head. "Come on, this is our room."  
To call it a room was generous. To Stiles' eyes it was more of a closet. Two small beds and a tiny bedside table between them. On the opposite wall were two dressers that when opened revealed multiples of the same clothes Danny wore.

"Someone's a fan of the 'closet full of the same outfit' gag." Stiles mumbled darkly as he slammed a drawer shut and plopped onto his new bed. He fell back on the mattress and groaned at the feeling. It was like laying on a slab of wood.

Danny smiled wanly. "You'll get used to it."

Stiles leaned up on his elbows, surveying the older boy with sparking interest. "How long have you been stuck here anyway?"

The boy lost his smile. "A while." There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence where Stiles wasn't sure he was going to say anything else but Danny continued as if finally dredging up the will. "My parents sent me here after I got arrested."

"You got arrested?" Stiles interrupted with an incredulous look at the quiet, almost docile boy. "For what? Kidnapping? Terrorism? Cut someone up into little pieces?"

Danny laughed softly. "No, nothing that exciting or ...morbid. I'm uh ...a bit of a computer geek I guess; Hacked into some private stuff I shouldn't have."

Some small part of Stiles ignited with wonder, never having considered such a concept. He motioned for more detail to be given.

"Just, you know, personal information, security systems, internet accounts, that sort of thing."

"That is ...super cool, man." Stiles grinned.

Danny rolled his eyes but allowed a small smirk in return. "Yeah, it was super cool when the cops showed up at my door. Anyway, after my time here is through I can get on with my life. What about you, what's your story?"

Stiles looked away at once, uncomfortable at the change in subject.

"Hey, it's okay if you don't want to tell me." Danny's quiet assurance was like a balm on the burning anxiety his previous question caused. "It's none of my business anyway, we only just met."

Stiles took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, it's cool. Only fair I give you some dirt on me. These guys ...my friends, I guess. We were hanging out one night, just walking around. Bored. We were a little drunk- Adrian stole this awesome whiskey from his dad. There was this house at the end of the street one of the guys noticed. One of the windows was half open. So ...I don't really remember, one of us decided we should see if we could sneak in and take something, you know, like a trophy."

Danny listened patiently, taking in each detail without judgement as Stiles stared at a spot on the ceiling, reliving the past in his head.

"We got inside pretty easy and we made it into a game: who could steal the most interesting thing. It seemed like no one was home. There were five of us, going through all this stuff, and then it went to shit really fast. Someone knocked something over, made a huge racket. We could hear someone moving in the back of the house but for some reason we all froze. We could have run but we just stood there, buzzed, looking at each other. This old woman came out of nowhere, in this ...stupid Bugs Bunny nightie and she was yelling at us, in another language. We didn't know what she was saying and she was so loud, waving her arms and she was just ...pissed. I mean, we did break into her house. And then Craig got scared I guess, he wasn't thinking, and he hit her. In the head, with this elephant statue thingy he was gonna take. And the old lady fell over. And there was blood on that little white elephant thing."

"What happened after that?"

Stiles smiled thinly without humor. "We ran. We went home and it was like nothing happened. It just seemed like a bad dream. Until Dad came home from work a couple days later, after they found her. Man, I'll never forget the look on his face. Anyway, long story short, after that it took all the strings he could pull to get me a lighter charge, on the condition I came here."

The boys sat in a grim silence for a few minutes until Danny spoke up suddenly.

"Hey, we have a few hours left until you see Carson."

Stiles groaned. "Ugh, don't remind me."

"Sorry. There's something I want to show you though, come on." The older boy jumped to his feet, an excited air about him.

**************************************************

Stiles followed curiously as he led them back to reception and returning to the main staircase. "Why are we going back upstairs?"

"Shhh, be quiet." Danny chastised him in a whisper.

Stiles glared at his back but obeyed. He flinched as he realized they'd be passing Carson's office. He didn't realize it but the force of sudden anxiety made him stop in the middle of the stairs, unable to move and his breath catching in his chest. He felt a warm hand take his own and gently tug him forward, little by little until they made it up the rest of the way and to the end of the hall. Danny released him and dug a small key from his pocket. They were standing in front of a door with a pane of frosted glass labeled 'COMPUTER LABS'. The lock gave a click and the older boy ushered him in, quickly closing the door behind them.

"Panic attack?" Danny questioned softly, moving around a desk to boot up one of the computers. When Stiles nodded in a stilted motion, still standing in place as his body slowly began to calm itself down, Danny smiled and patted the chair beside him. "I used to get them all the time."

Stiles took the invitation to sit, watching the text flash into existence on the computer screen as it started itself up. "How did you get them to stop?"

The boy hit a few keys, logging in with a thoughtful look on his face. "I sort of force myself to think of the things I like, like really complex lines of code and it calms me down a bit. It sounds pretty lame when I say it out loud." He chuckled to himself, a faint redness creeping along his neck.

"I don't think that's going to do it for me, but thanks, man." Stiles smirked, the distracting conversation working it's subtle, calming magic. "I'm no super-leet-hacker like you."

Danny gave him a toothy grin. "You know, I can show you some things if you want?"

**************************************************

It seemed like the hours melted away in the computer lab. It was ten to nine when Danny closed the programs he was using to teach Stiles with a heavy sigh. Stiles looked at the digital computer clock with a growing dread, coming back to really realize where he was and what he now had to do.

"Just remember, do what he says and don't talk back. I'm sensing that might be a problem for you." He gave Stiles a playful poke in the side, the two already becoming fast friends. "I'll wait up for you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, dude." Stiles exhaled noisily, rising to his feet with a stretch. "Guess I might as well go now. Hey, how'd you get your own key to the lab anyway?"

Danny smiled slyly. "There's benefits to good behavior, Stilinski. Go on, don't keep Carson waiting. Good luck."

"Yeah, right." Stiles muttered, beginning the uneasy walk back down the hall towards the room he had already learned to despise. Every step he took was a fight to stay calm, a battle to soothe his jittering nerves. His skin felt like it was on fire, a bead of sweat trickling down the small of his back. He tried to remember everything Danny showed him.

The office door opened before he could muster the courage to knock. "You're early, Mr. Stilinski." Doctor Carson leered down at him, a malicious twinkle in his eye that further tweaked the boy's fear. "Well, come in then."

Stiles followed, closing the door behind him.

"Sit."

He sat in the familiar chair, hands in his lap and looking resolutely at the floor where Carson's legs and feet soon appeared, crossed easily while he leaned against his desk.

"Let's get right to it, shall we? I think we got off on the wrong foot this afternoon, and I wanted to apologize." Doctor Carson spoke in a monotone, his voice giving no emotional clues whatsoever.

Stiles couldn't believe his ears, he chanced a quick look upwards and wished he didn't after meeting cold, icy blue eyes that bore into his own.

"That's all. Lights out is at nine o'clock, sharp. Run along."

Stiles rose to his feet, feeling vaguely like something wasn't right but not questioning it. "Thank you ...Sir?" The words were awkward and forced but seemed to please Carson anyway. The man nodded and Stiles fled, feeling the eyes like laser sights burning into his back.

When he returned to his room, true to his word, Danny was up and waiting. He discarded the book he was reading to the side and sat up straight.

"Hey! How'd it go?"

Stiles shrugged, still feeling like the moment was anti-climatic and somewhat surreal. "It was fine. He uh ...said he was sorry for today, I guess? It was weird."

Danny frowned. "That's more than weird. I've never heard of him apologizing to a kid before."

"I don't know, man. Maybe I'm the one to finally make him feel bad about being a total scumbag?"

"Maybe," the older boy conceded though he sounded unsure. "Hey Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Just ...be careful."

**************************************************

The next two months blew by. In the weekday mornings Stiles would half sleep through the classes offered or write notes back and forth with Danny in the math class they shared. The older boy was like the big brother he always wished he had in the past when his father was busy with work. The teachers were pretty slack in the classroom but during the weekdays they constantly loaded the boys down with extra assignments to be completed in their free time in the evenings. Both of them would struggle to finish their work as fast as possible before making a mad dash to the computer labs where Stiles' computer skills were blossoming under Danny's keen education. As for Doctor Carson, Stiles avoided him as best he could. In truth, they had barely exchanged any words since his first night at Elmond House though he could always feel when Carson's eyes were on him, sending pins and needles down the back of his neck. Then there were the awkward phone calls with his dad every two weeks. ('Stiles.' 'Dad.' 'How are you?' 'Smashing, thanks. Can I come home now?' 'You know I can't-' Stiles always hangs up at that point.)

During the weekdays when there were staff to spare, adult supervision was required to use the lab. Having Mrs. Gilvary looking at them suspiciously over her thick glasses was something Stiles could do without. At her desk at the front of the room, monitors displayed what the students were looking at thus depriving them of any sort of privacy. Not to mention the woman had an excess of neck fat that wobbled comically every time she spoke. Stiles had almost succeeded in sullying Danny's reputation as a well behaved golden boy when he drew her as a plump turkey and passed it stealthily in class across their desks. He grinned every time he remembered the look of the boy gasping for breath, trying not to crack up in laughter and giving Stiles a dirty look at the same time. ('is there a problem, Mr. Mahealani?' Cue the wobbling folds. 'N-no, Miss. S-sorry, Miss.')

Danny had a solution for their problem, as it were.

"Wanna see something neat?" He had whispered one day soon after the abomination known as Mrs. Gilvary made herself known. "Open up something really, really boring."

Stiles raised an eyebrow but found something really dull: an excruciatingly long research paper on different types of soil.

"Perfect," Danny grinned. "And with a few commands ..." He waited until Gilvary was distracted, searching through a drawer for something, and opened up a secret program he had personally installed on nearly every computer in the room. Danny hit a few keys and the screen blinked for a split second as the window disappeared back into hiding.

"So what was the point of that?" Stiles whispered.

Danny smirked smugly. "Well now you can, oh I don't know, work on breaking into the school system with me while poor, deluded Mrs. Gilvary thinks you're looking at an article about dirt."

Stiles shoved a hand over his own mouth to contain a peal of delighted laughter before it gave up their ruse. "You're a genius. Okay, how do I do this part again?"

**************************************************

Stiles worried his tongue between his teeth in concentration as Danny gave gentle instruction. He had been teaching the younger boy everything he knew about the world of computers. Some coding, the ways different programs worked, how to construct a simple program from scratch. Stiles was a quick learner and proved able to soak up information like a sponge if he was interested enough in the subject.

"Alright, boys. Lab's closed for today. And don't give me those puppy eyes, Stilinski, it's not cute."

Stiles traded in the attempt for a scowl, Danny trying not to smirk as they shut down the machines and exited the lab. Time unfortunately always seemed to speed up for them in the lab.

"So, Sensei, what's the next lesson of enlightenment?"

Danny grinned and ruffled his hair fondly. Before he could respond the PA system gave a loud beep as the speakers crackled somewhere above them.

"Stilinski to Doctor Carson's office, please. Stilinski to Doctor Carson's office."

Stiles bit his lip and looked down the hall as if surveying some battlefield he was about to traverse. "Shit." Shit, shit, shit.

Danny put a hand on his shoulder. "It's probably nothing. He usually calls for the newbies after a while, see how they're getting on and all that."

Stiles swallowed, trying to think of all the nasty viruses he was going to cook up one day to make Carson's computer explode in a ball of flame. They walked together slowly down the hall, all too quickly reaching the end. "Okay, I guess I'll see you later."

"Don't sweat it, you'll be fine." With a weak smile that only succeeded in being a grimace, Danny and his reassuring presence left Stiles in front of Carson's office. In his mind he chanted lines of code as he knocked with a shaking fist on the wooden door.

"Come in." Came a muffled voice.

Stiles entered, closing the door and already moving towards the chair he was sure the doctor would tell him to sit down on. Carson looked up from some paperwork, squinting at Stiles and frowning.

"Lock the door."

The boy's footsteps faltered a second. He teetered, turning around and placing his hand on the lock. With a slight tremor he turned it with a clicking sound. When he turned back Carson was standing right behind him. His heart jumped into his throat and he knew he was visibly trembling now with fear.

"Mr. Stilinski, how are you?" Carson asked in a low voice.

Stiles' eyes were wide, staring at the floor. His mind was a blank, only filled with a foggy cloud of anxious confusion.

"I asked you a question, young man." The words were iron, cold and clanging in Stiles' ears.

"F-fine, Sir." He stammered out, the man still uncomfortably close to him.

Carson smiled coldly. "Good. That's good. It seems you've become quite close with Mr. Mahealani, is that right?"

Stiles nodded, only speaking in a low murmur when the doctor's flicker of a frown told him that wasn't good enough. "Yes, Sir."

"It's nice to have a friend, isn' it, Stiles?" Carson finally stepped back much to Stiles' relief, sitting back down behind his desk and turning his computer around to face Stiles with a grin. "Actually, I was hoping that you and I could be friends."

Stiles looked at him, brows furrowed as he struggled to understand where the man was going with his bizarre statements.

"Do you know what this is?" Carson tapped the screen lightly with a finger, answering his own question and not waiting for Stiles' attempt this time. "This is a report I email every month to the various authorities interested in those under my care. Every young man staying at Elmond House will have one going out on Monday, including you. In this document I give my professional opinion on your progress, that is, whether I think you're ready to reintegrate back into your regular life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Stiles fought to keep any hope out of his expression but knew he must be failing when Carson gave him a wide smile. He was like a shark sensing blood in the water.

"They generally take my word as it is, you see. I can easily set you free with a single communication if I wish to, or I can make sure you stay here if you're particularly stubborn and unwilling to move forward. Come here."

Stiles blinked at the sudden command, jerking him out of sudden fantasies of going home the next day, sleeping in his own bed. "Sir ...?"

"Come here, Mr. Stilinski. Now. Do not make me repeat myself again."

Stiles almost tripped over his own feet in his hurry. He stopped a few feet short of Carson, unsure of what the man wanted.

The doctor smiled. "Closer."

Stiles shuffled forward an inch.

"Closer, Mr. Stilinski. You're trying my patience."

The boy felt as though his body were vibrating, a major panic attack bubbling up through him and threatening to break the surface. He gasped at the sudden feeling of hands on his shoulders, pushing him down until his knees dug into the hard wooden floors. He could feel his face begin to burn furiously at the realization he was now eye level with the crotch of Carson's pants. Holy fucking Christ-

"Now, if you behave in a friendly manner there's no reason why I can't return the favor," The doctor spoke, a hitch in his breath as he undid his belt and slowly unzipped his fly. "Shorten your time here a little, hmm? Would you like that?"

Stiles stared, disbelief and shock coursing through him, panic immobilizing him completely. A large hand gripped his jaw painfully, giving his head a shake.

"I asked if you'd like that, young man." Carson's lip curled in disgust at the whimper he got in reply. "Open your mouth now, like a good boy." With a groan he freed his length from the confines of his clothing, already hard and aching.

I'm not here this isn't happening I'm not here this isn't happening I'm not here-

On some instinct of self preservation, Stiles slammed a small fist into the man's exposed genitalia as hard as he could. Shaken by Carson's howl of pain as he clutched himself, Stiles scrambled to his feet, slipping on the wood as he ran across the room. He yanked madly on the doorknob, in danger of hyperventilating. In his panic he didn't realize the door was still locked. By the time he thought to grasp the bolt, Carson's heavy hand grabbed him by the hair and flung him backwards. He landed hard on his back with a cry cut short by all the air leaving him in a heavy gasp.

As he lay there panting for breath, Carson was screaming over the PA for security. He had time to give the boy a swift kick to the ribs and leaned down, baring his teeth as he whispered menacingly in his ear. "We're not finished here, you little bastard, don't worry."

Two large men in dark green uniform entered the room. Carson appraised them coolly. "Take Stilinski downstairs. Give him the standard treatment. After that, some time in solitary will do him good- he's quite violent as you can tell," he gestured his disheveled appearance. "So be cautious."

Both security personnel looked at each other and then the skinny boy before them with skeptical expressions but gathered him up anyway.

**************************************************

Stiles was in hell. He didn't remember the trip to the basement. He knew they had shaved his head and tossed him in a cell, but that was all the detail that came to him. There was no sense of time in his prison. It was a plain, concrete box with a bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. A heavy, metal door that never opened. Once a day someone opened a slot in the bottom and shoved in a tray of stale, old food. For a while he ignored the disgusting offering until hunger compelled him to pounce on it, tearing into bread that had the texture of a rock and a brown, soft apple. For the first day he screamed at the walls until his throat was raw. He alternated between violent rages and breaking down in a corner, crying until there seemed like there were no tears left in him.

Somewhere between the first and second day he realized the light never went out, further distorting his sense of time. He couldn't sleep. He tried to remember the evenings in the labs with Danny, struggling to conquer the strange digital languages. He tried to remember his life before coming to Elmond House. He tried to remember his Mom.

On the third day, with bloodshot eyes he was starting to consider trying to break the bulb and slash his wrists with the glass. He stared at the bulb until spots danced on his eyelids, wondering if he had the guts to do it. He stood, taking off a shoe in preparation when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Something he somehow never noticed before despite the tedium. In small letters, some boy before him had written a message at the bottom of the wall in what looked like black marker. Stiles had to lay on his stomach on the cold cement floor and press his face close to even have a hope of reading the words:

**don't give up**

He curled up in the corner and read the words over and over, trying to stop crying until they finally released him some time later.

**************************************************

"Stiles!" Danny looked up in surprise as his newly-buzzed friend staggered into their room with heavy bags under his reddened eyes. "I heard what happened. Your hair is ...uh, different. Oh man, they put you in solitary, didn't they? I told you not to sass Carson-"

Stiles burst into tears, shaking with the heavy sobs wracking his body.

The older boy quickly moved to his side, alarmed at the sudden torrent. "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're okay now." He hesitated a brief second before giving his friend a tight hug, letting him cry and feeling the wet patch left behind on his shoulder. "Come on, get into bed. You're exhausted."

Stiles let himself be led to his hard mattress that felt luxurious after the concrete cell, laying there limply as Danny draped the blankets over him. He eventually fell asleep, chest heaving and face tear-stained as his friend watched him through the night.

Danny had to get up several times and wake the younger boy when he was in the grip of powerful nightmares before the noise of his cries and thrashing brought them unwelcome attention. Each time Stiles would blink his eyes open, bewildered at the darkness until Danny calmed him down, reminding him he was safe in his room. Neither of them got much sleep. The hacker was awake, staring at the ceiling when a quiet voice spoke in the dark.

"Danny? Are you awake?"

"Yeah."

"You said you heard what happened, right?"

"Everyone said you had a fit, attacked Carson. That's not true though, right?"

"It's ...yeah, it's true."

Danny propped himself up on his elbow, looking at the darkened silhouette of his friend across the small room. "Why would you do that?" Even in the dark he could see Stiles trembling under the blankets.

"He ...fuck, he tried to make me blow him."

The older boy didn't immediately reply, and the longer the silence dragged on the more anxious Stiles got.

"Danny? I'm not making it up, I swear. You believe me, r-right?"

"I believe you," Danny spoke softly. "I'm just trying to figure out how to ruin that evil piece of shit."

Stiles let out a sob that tired to be a laugh at the uncharacteristic vulgarity coming from his friend, soon settling into an uneasy but thankfully dreamless sleep.

**************************************************

When the morning came, Stiles awoke with a sense of purpose that currently was the glue holding the fragile pieces of him together. He glanced over to his sleeping friend who was snoring peacefully. A pang of gratitude filled him as he quickly dressed as quietly as he could. After a moment of debating he began to rifle through Danny's pile of clothing on the floor until his fingers brushed what he was looking for. He pocketed the small key triumphantly and padded to the door, looking back with a slight guilt troubling him. He shook his head. He'll understand.

It was Saturday morning, so that meant most of the staff were off for the weekend. It was early enough to safely wager that nearly everyone was still asleep. Breakfast wouldn't be served for another hour or so. Stiles gripped the key to the computer labs tightly in his hand like a good luck charm, the cool metal soon becoming hot in his clammy fingers. He crept up the stairs and was thankful there wasn't any cliché creaky step to ruin his life.

When he reached the door to the labs he almost had a heart attack when the key wouldn't turn. He twisted it in a frantic motion, half afraid it would snap off in the lock when he simply turned it the other way and it popped open easily. "Nice one, Stilinski." He mumbled to himself, quickly slipping inside. His plan was to infiltrate Carson's computer, rummage through his email until he found the report concerning himself, then change the text to make sure he looked like a golden child and was deemed ready for release right away. If he could find Danny's too, so much the better.

As the computer turned on, it seemed as though everything was happening in slow motion. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It had only taken him five minutes to get to the lab, he still had lots of time. If he was as smart as he thought he was, he would be back in bed shortly and no one would be the wiser. Except Danny. He wouldn't be able to resist the urge to brag that he usurped the master if he managed to pull this off.

Logging on, he quickly opened the hidden programs Danny worked his hacker magic with. Eyes scanning quickly over the legions of folders, Stiles squinted, forcing the blurring images into words and numbers. How much stuff do you have in here, Danny? Stiles bit his lip, scrolling through the files until he spotted the one he wanted. Another nervous glance at the clock. Just searching for it ate up another ten minutes.

A message popped up on the screen, mocking his current situation.

**XCALIBUR.EXE .....LOADING**

"Come on, come on," Stiles mumbled, deciding to tease Danny mercilessly later on for his choice of program names. This was one of the first programs that the hacker had demonstrated to him: one of Danny's own design. Stiles had been impressed but the older boy had brushed the compliment off, conceding it was simple enough to create. If Stiles could figure out how to use it, it would let him connect to another computer in the building and access it remotely.

As the program finished loading, a list of gibberish appeared on the screen that Stiles guessed were names assigned to each machine. "Where are you, you fucker?" Stiles cursed, scrolling through the giant list. How many goddamn computers are in this stupid place? He groaned to the empty room before remembering with a wince that he was supposed to be operating in stealth. The clock told him he had about twenty-five minutes left. He stared at the list, willing something to pop out at him for another five minutes until he decided he wouldn't be able to find it in time- there were just too many possible options. He looked at the door. What are the chances ...

He stood in front of Carson's office thirty seconds later, adrenaline winning out over the unpleasant echoes bouncing around in his head. He muttered a greeting to another boy walking past, trying not to look suspicious and probably failing miserably. As the boy turned a corner, Stiles reached out and took the knob in his hand, giving it a quick twist.

The door opened. You're going to regret not locking the fucking door this time. Stiles slipped in, closing and locking it as quietly as he could behind him. He narrowed his eyes, zeroing in on Carson's computer. Fifteen minutes of safety left. He launched himself into the leather chair, turning it on and tapping his foot with impatience. As it came to life, he quickly realized his mistake.

Of course Danny wouldn't have been able to install his creations on Carson's personal computer. Oh my god, I'm an idiot. What the hell am I doing? His hopes were further dampened when the machine immediately demanded a password. He glared at the monitor, giving his itchy scalp a scratch while he thought. He looked around the office, trying to divine some clue as to what the password could be. The only overtly interesting thing in the room was a large painting of the Great Pyramids. Might as well give it a try. Stiles began to type his best guesses with mounting frustration.

**pyramid**  
 **...**  
 **INCORRECT PASSWORD**

**egypt**  
 **...**  
 **INCORRECT PASSWORD**

**pharoah**  
 **...**  
 **INCORRECT PASSWORD**

**FUCK FUCK FUCK**  
 **...**  
 **INCORRECT PASSWORD**

**You have entered your password incorrectly multiple times. This account is now locked and must be reset by the administrator. Or, you may answer your personal security question in 30 minutes. Thank you.**

"I don't have thirty minutes you piece of shit!" Stiles hissed at the screen. He slumped back in the chair, hands over his face as he mentally watched his plan crumble. Should've just waited. Danny could probably do this in five minutes blindfolded. The boy sat there a few seconds, grimly staring at the mess he had left on the screen. He knew he couldn't afford to let Carson know he had been messing around in his office or who knows what punishments the sadistic doctor might dream up especially for Stiles.

As he moved to shut down the computer and turn off the monitor, the whir of the hard drive thankfully faded to near silence just as firm footsteps came to stop outside the door. Stiles' eyes widened with sheer terror as the sound of jingling keys came through the barrier. He had just enough time to duck under the desk as the door opened and Doctor Carson walked in.

Stiles held his breath and prayed to whatever higher powers he could think of. If Carson walked around his desk, he would notice the screen was on and he would find him immediately. From his hiding place he could only hear the man and not be one hundred percent sure of his exact position in the office. He barely muffled a surprised squeak as Carson moved towards his chair, his shoes two feet away from Stiles' face, but then the man stopped and turned around as if he had forgotten something or perhaps changed his mind. It was pure luck; if he had come even a little closer he definitely would've noticed the computer was on.

Listening carefully, Stiles was reasonably sure the doctor had gone to the back of the room, and it sounded like he was moving things around. The boy scrunched his eyes tight and tried to visualize it in his head. What's back there ...bookshelves, filing cabinets, storage closet? He was sure there was a door back there and the sounds he was hearing were slightly muffled. Deciding it might be his only chance, Stiles poked his head above the edge of the desk and sure enough, behind some shelves and not totally obscured, was Carson leafing through files from the closet and making a pile of them on a cabinet behind him.

Stiles crawled on hands and knees towards the door, trying to stay silent on the hard wooden surface. Inch by inch he crept forwards, nervously glancing behind him though Carson seemed sufficiently distracted and was opening drawers now creating a fair bit of noise. As he reached up and twisted the lock, it gave an audible click in a perfectly horrible pocket of quiet. As he gasped at the sound and yanked the door open, he could hear the man shouting behind him.

"WHO IS THAT? GET BACK HERE!"

The boy's feet pounded down the hallway, struggling to make it down the stairs where he could disappear down a corridor and hide out in his room. He looked back but Carson wasn't behind him- he was going to make it.

He was so preoccupied with his possible pursuer, Stiles ran straight into Danny. The younger boy fell backwards on his tailbone, wincing and flailing his arms, scrambling to get to his feet.

"Stiles!" Danny grinned. Several other boys that Stiles only knew as acquaintances nodded in greeting or simply looked on, bored and apathetic. Danny reached down, helping his friend to his feet. "We're gonna go play some lacrosse on the lawn for a bit after breakfast, you wanna come? And don't tell me you've never played." The older boy's teasing smile faltered a moment as he picked up on the almost visible waves of distress. "Everything okay?"

"I think I just royally fucked up," Stiles blurted out.

Danny raised an eyebrow, frowning. "What's going on?"

"NOBODY MOVE." Carson's voice boomed throughout the lobby. A few of the boys instantly started staring holes into the floor while others, including Stiles, flinched at the loud command. Only Danny stared up at the headmaster, confused and alarmed.

"Sir, what's-" The boy began in a cautious tone only to be cut off.

"SILENCE." Carson stomped down the stairs, chest heaving and face terribly red with rage. "One of you little DELINQUENTS had the GALL to nose around my office, just now. ONE of you thought you were clever enough to try and break into my computer." He looked from boy to boy, his snarling lips curling into a somehow scarier smile. "Well, not so clever now, are we? How about this: I'll play along for a moment. If the guilty party comes forward now, your punishment will be ...less severe. If you don't, I'll just have to punish all of you to make sure this particular lesson sticks. How about that?"

The group of boys shifted uncomfortably. All of them knew it was Stiles, and all of them felt the same inner conflict: they knew what Carson was capable of inflicting on them to some degree or other, but none of them had any ill will towards Stiles since he was close with Danny. Everyone liked Danny. It took a lot for the quiet boy to have a bad word to say about someone. As they all collectively squirmed with inaction, Carson's smile grew and it was like watching the last grains of sand running through an hourglass.

"No takers? Ah well. It was an interesting experiment of loyalty I suppose. I'm already sure who it was anyway, seeing as how only one troublemaker here seems to enjoy computers so much." He turned and narrowed his eyes at Stiles who seemed to shrink and wilt under the scrutiny.

"Sir? It was me."

Stiles' head whipped around to stare aghast at his friend. Danny hung his head but gave Stiles a sideways glance that begged him to stay quiet. No, no, what are you doing you idiot?

Carson laughed, the sound shocking after the unbearable tension that had choked the room. "I believe you boys were leaving? Mr. Mahealani and his cohort have a very interesting story to tell me, I'm sure."

The other boys needed no further invitation, scampering away with a few somber looks back at their fellow inmates. When they had fled out into the sunshine, Doctor Carson began a slow, awkward clap that made Stiles' chest feel tighter and tighter with a panic attack coming on now that all his previous adrenaline was gone.

"So, Mr. Mahealani, do tell me what you were hoping to accomplish by breaking into my office?" The doctor stared the boy down, amused and savage in his enjoyment of the fear he inspired.

"Uh," Danny stammered. "I ...I was looking for ..."

"Yes ...?"

The boy's face burned, suddenly lost for words as he was put on the spot. "I was-"

"Stop. Just stop, young man. This is painful for me to watch." Carson shook his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose as if a headache was coming on. "Trying to cover for your friend is commendable to some sorts, I suppose. Though I think you should know better by now- that kind of behavior doesn't work in your favor here. Now, go up to my office, let yourself in, and be seated. I'll deal with you in a moment."

Danny was silent, immediately backing down and moving towards the stairs, eyes downcast. Stiles followed, freezing in place once Carson laughed heartily again.

"No, no, no. Not you, Stilinski. I think you know where you're going."

Thick arms sleeved in a familiar shade of green grabbed him from behind. He had never even heard the large man approach but started to struggle in the hold right away, grunting with the effort.

"NO! LET ME GO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! DANNY! DANNY!" He screamed as he was taken away down a hall towards the heavy door that led down to the hellish basement. Danny looked back him, growing smaller and smaller as the distance grew, eyes wet with a mixture of sadness and fear for himself and his friend. The last thing he saw before they made it to the dark steps leading downstairs was the doctor smirking, laying a hand like a talon on Danny's shoulder and steering the boy away.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Stiles screamed, voice breaking as he writhed and fought against his restrainer.

Stiles would be in and out of the solitary cell over the next six months for varying lengths of time. After his second stint, a record of thirteen consecutive days, he would emerge to find that Danny's release date had come and gone. He would find that a strange new person now slept in their familiar room. With Carson dogging his every move, every hour of the day, every other boy would begin to avoid Stiles like he had something nasty and contagious. The calls from his father would become rare with the Sheriff's recent promotion. They would last only minutes, neither of them really saying much while he would try to gather the courage to reveal what was happening, to beg his Dad to come get him, but Carson would always be there with him in the room, looming over him like a thunder cloud. He would have no one.

The basement door slammed shut for the first of many times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more ambitious in scope than my last fic! Hopefully this doesn't disappoint. Tags are currently what I could rattle off the top of my head. If you feel I missed something let me know and I'll update accordingly. The rest of this story will take place six years later when Stiles is in a much different place... thanks for reading and comments are love. xo
> 
> (this story is inspired by the Marilyn Manson album, Born Villian and all lyrics used in each chapter's notes are therefor not my own)


	2. No Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crushing  
> cheating  
> changing  
> am i deaf or dead?  
> is this constricting construction  
> or just streets with rusty signs  
> of something violent coming?
> 
> (i'm weak, seven days i'm weak)

** Six Years Later **

An obnoxious loud knocking tore Stiles from a fitful sleep, the morning light trying in vain to break through the heavy, black curtains and the bad dreams that plagued him incessantly.

"FUCK OFF!" He snarled, snatching the covers and yanking them back over his head. His roommate's voice came muffled through the door but still clear enough and annoyingly cheerful.

"Dude, don't you work today? You're gonna be late."

Stiles bolted upright in bed, frantic eyes bleary with sleep as he tried to locate his alarm clock among the messy room. **7:09** \- he had less than an hour to get downtown. Fuck. He chewed on his lip, debating a sick day but knew with a sinking feeling that wasn't really an option with the end of the month fast approaching.

**************************************************

He was still surprised Scott put up with him and his meager, somewhat unreliable income. Ever since they had moved in together Stiles had probably gone through a dozen jobs, each worse than the last. He now knew for certain he was a lousy cashier ('poor customer service' his supervisor had told him), a terrible waiter ('no tips again, Stilinski? What the hell are you doing out there?'), and a horrifyingly bad salesperson (especially with his boss constantly watching over his shoulder). Most places took one look at his appearance and refused to even look at his resume, sadly short as it was. So every other month his share of the rent was usually late by a week or so while he scraped together enough to pull through, but there was minimal complaining from Scott. I guess I should count myself lucky Scott's such a pushover. They had been living together for a few months now, another thing that still vaguely bewildered him though now he supposed they were sort of friends.

Living in Beacon City wasn't cheap and once he managed to pry himself out of his father's suffocating grasp, it became obvious he wouldn't be able to go it alone- no matter how much he would've liked to. During his search for a housemate, Stiles realized just how hard it was going to be. Over and over again he had to work up the nerve to approach strangers (all women) only to be turned away every time. He started to give up on the people who immediately requested a background check, knowing what his records looked like and all the explaining or context in the world wasn't going to make that shit storm look pretty.

He ended up getting desperate enough to go for another guy's ad despite the deep fear he held- Scott's, and found himself unexpectedly accepted on the spot.

"Really?" he had blurted out incredulously despite his discomfort. "You don't even want to know my story, like at all? I could be an ax murderer, you dumbass." He later reflected it probably wasn't the smartest idea to insult the first person to give him a break in a long time. 

Scott had just beamed at him as if Stiles had given him a generous compliment. "Are you an ax murderer?"

He remembered staring, wondering if he was in danger of moving in with someone who wasn't all there upstairs- not that he could talk. "Well ...no."

Scott had continued to smile like a bright little sunbeam. "Alright then!"

Stiles had gestured to himself. "You're sure?" He wanted to make sure Scott was properly seeing the tattoos (he would get several more since meeting Scott, his favorite of which was the melting keyboard on the inside of his wrist), the piercings (just his ears and septum at the time, but these would multiply as well), and his grimy clothes.

"Yeah man, you seem like a good guy. Why not?"

"A good guy," Stiles had repeated dully, shaking his head. "Right."

The first month together was definitely awkward, more so for Scott who had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Stiles was reminded repeatedly with alternating pangs of guilt and annoyance that he wasn't the easiest person in the world to get to know. He had to give Scott props for trying his hardest though. For a while when things were still new and harder for him to cope with (he had vastly underestimated the panic attacks that would take place once he moved in), he refused to leave his room if Scott was home, even if he was starving or had to piss.

One evening, after hearing his roommate finally leave for work, Stiles had stepped outside and his bare foot landed in something slimy and lukewarm. He had almost slipped and cracked his head against the door in his confusion and looked down to see that Scott had left him dinner- a plate of spaghetti with a little smiley face made of meatballs. Or at least that's what it had been before he stepped on it. He was furious for about ten seconds before the rational part of his brain took over and he saw it for the thoughtful gesture it was. After that it got better, slowly but surely as his roommate became the only male figure in his life (besides his own father) that Stiles could tolerate being physically near for more than short periods of time.

Scott worked at an animal hospital a few blocks away. One night while they were both home and having a rare video game night that Stiles allowed himself to enjoy every now and then, Scott had told him he knew he wanted to be a veterinarian ever since he was a kid and Stiles felt a lick of jealousy. His roommate was an airhead as far as he was concerned, but he did admire, almost covet Scott's certainty and the assured way with which he moved throughout life. One thing that really irritated him though was that the guy was forever sneaking animals in their apartment though, ones that needed a home for a little while. Stiles hadn't been aware (or cared to know, really) but was soon gravely informed by his roommate that it was common practice in the city for people to drop off their "beloved pets" at the clinic and just never come back for them. So in that way he quickly learned that Scott was a bleeding heart and he would be lying if he said he didn't occasionally take advantage and tug those strings a little now and then. It was only fair if he had to suffer through multiple balls of fur that all seemed to uniformly despise him.

**************************************************

Stiles definitely broke the world record for the fastest shower ever, flying back across the hall in a blur to his bedroom in search of a clean sweater among the piles on the floor. Between work and his own general apathy there wasn't much time in his schedule devoted to organization.

"It'd be a lot less hectic if you actually cleaned up a little, dude."

"Fuck off, Scott."

"A 'good morning' would be nice for a change, you know." Scott grumbled sullenly, leaving the doorway at the display of early day hostility.

"In my defense, you should know by now that I don't do 'good' mornings'." Stiles shot back in reply, not really caring if he was heard as he tugged on a black cardigan peppered with tiny, grinning skulls.

He grabbed his keys off the dresser which was completely covered with a mess of wires and electronic scraps and took off running quickly through the small apartment. He slung the backpack full of his supplies over his shoulder in a smooth motion as he shoved on some ratty slip-ons, in too much of a rush to bother with the dexterity that laces demanded of him.

Stiles muttered a goodbye to Scott, stealing a piece of his roommate's toast while Scott was distracted by the television- his mouth hung open slightly like the small dog yipping excitedly at his feet much to Stiles' amusement.

"Hey!" Came a shout as the door closed behind him. Stiles snickered around the stolen bread stuffed in his mouth as he used both hands to fish out and untangle his headphones.

"Not cool, dude! You totally owe me an awesome breakfast tomorrow!"

Yeah, good luck with that.

**************************************************

His good humor (at Scott's expense, of course) evaporated as he took in the familiar sight of crowds of people traversing the sidewalks outside the building. Just seeing them go by behind the glass doors of the apartment lobby made his heart beat a little harder. He tried to remember the exercise Dr. Wells had talked him through during their last session. Shit, it's been so long, what did she say ...? It was almost grief that needled his heart as he brought her to his mind. He hadn't actually seen Dr. Wells in almost three years and missed their conversations terribly.

"It's important to have a good awareness of our own thoughts, Stiles. Sometimes it's not as easy as it sounds! Whenever you find your mood is getting worse or an attack is coming on, rather than focusing on trying to stop the anger, the sadness, the anxiety, try to determine what thoughts or situation is causing you to feel that way. When we know where our negative feelings come from, it's easier to examine them in a new light. We can stop them from spiraling and becoming worse. The next time you start to feel scared, talk yourself through the feeling the moment you notice your thought process start to change. The more you do it, the easier it gets and it'll help train you to handle at least the minor anxieties a bit better."

"Okay," he murmured out loud, already feeling silly despite being alone. "Talk yourself through it. Lots of people ...duh, it's the city, no reason to freak out or anything. Nobody's paying attention you, Stiles. No one knows who you are-"

He suddenly got the feeling of being watched. Sure enough a man in a navy suit, probably on his way to work as well, was behind him near the elevators and silently watching him talk to himself with a dubious expression. Fear and embarrassment sliced into his gut like twin daggers.

Due to previous experiences, Stiles had developed an unhealthy distrust of his own sex. He didn't do well in situations where he felt isolated with other men present. Not to mention in this instance, he also happened to be caught unaware which was a rare occurrence given his constant scrutiny of the people around him.

He all but ran out the front doors, his face burning and desperately hoping the man didn't actually live there and they would never see each other again. For a few moments it seemed perfectly possible he would be pursued, large hands he couldn't fight back against pulling him down to the basement- no no no no no that can't happen anymore. It's done. It's done.

Out on the street Stiles bowed his head as he began to navigate the crowds of early morning workers and parents shepherding their children towards their schools, trembling fingers fiddling with his phone. He focused on deciding the soundtrack to his commute, the distraction allowing him to calm somewhat. The music couldn't begin, the small device began to vibrate against his skin as a call came through. He frowned at the screen, trying not to bump into anyone as he reluctantly answered with a sigh.

"John."

John Stilinski, now Chief of Police in Beacon City echoed his son's sigh- an all too familiar sound coming out of the phone's tiny speaker. "Stiles, you know I hate it when you call me that."

"It's your name, isn't it?" Stiles dryly responded as he stopped at a curb, waiting for the light to change. A small boy looked at him with wonder, probably wondering how he got the funny pictures on the skin peeking out from the collar of his shirt and inching up his neck. He tried to ignore the child and the disapproving stare coming from the woman he reasonably guessed was the boy's mother.

"That's not what I- forget it. Look, are you free this Thursday night?"

"Nope, busy," Stiles answered in monotone. I thought we were done trying to do this father-son bonding bullshit. "Terribly, terribly busy."

"Doing what?"

"Stuff. Working." Not having the same awkward conversations with you over and over and-

"Stiles." The Chief didn't sound happy.

"What." It wasn't a question.

"That's not true. I already called and checked your schedule."

Stiles scowled into the phone, wishing a string of buses or trucks or something would go by so he could pretend it was too loud and just hang up. Or just jump in front of one. "And now you're stalking me. Since you're an expert in the fields of legality, how exactly do I go about getting a restraining order?"

"That's not funny, Stiles. You're my son- I want to know what's going on in your life and you're not very forthcoming with information so I have to take what I can get." John said the last half of his sentence quietly, almost to himself, and Stiles heard him only barely.

"Fine, you got me. What's going on Thursday?" Stiles could almost see his father brighten up a little through the phone at his son asking him a rare question. He rolled his eyes.

"Well, the Mayor's throwing this masquerade ball thing for a charity event and I-"

"No."

"Son, just hear me out. I know it's not really your thing but-"

"No! A hundred thousand million times no. You know I can't deal with stuff like that, especially with stuck up rich people that think they're better than me." Stiles grit his teeth. How many times do I have to explain what a fucking anxiety disorder is to you?

"Look, I'll be there with you. I won't leave you alone the whole time if you want! All the city officials will be there and I have to make at least an appearance, maybe a speech or something. I'd really like to introduce you to some people- like the Mayor! You'd like him, Stiles. He's a really nice guy."

If I have to listen to this any longer I'm going to run out into traffic. "It's not happening." Stiles spoke firmly, a headache starting to bloom between his eyes. "I can't talk anymore anyway, I'm on my way to work."

"How is that going?" The Chief asked, keeping up with the abrupt change in subject and keen for the knowledge that his son was actually holding onto a job longer than a couple weeks.

"It's okay, I'm working at a bank right now."

"That's great, son. That's great. I'm really proud of you."

Stiles bit back a nasty retort and swallowed it down, burying it in his chest like a shard of broken glass. "I gotta go. Bye." He hung up before his father could respond, music blaring to life for a few sweet minutes before he arrived at his destination. He hummed along to the last bits of a song before he entered the revolving doors of Kleiner Danson. For all your 'I'm-a-Rich-Prick-with-too-much-money'-related needs. Hah.

*************************************************

Stiles worked for a company that offered computer repair and security related services. Being their most talented employee (their words, not his, but they even made him his own business card and handed it out to curious clients on his behalf) meant he got the more important customers like businesses and government-owned operations. Most of his jobs were pretty boring at first but after he had proven himself he was soon allowed to sign up for his current posting, which turned out to be a gold mine of opportunity.

Kleiner Danson was the largest private bank in the city by far. Actually it was the biggest one period- even the chains that counted themselves in every state couldn't quite get a grasp in Beacon City for some reason. Stiles assumed it had something to do with the location: the city basically having been built around the street the bank happened to be erected on- everything sort of grew out from it (he always researches each and every place he works now, from each employer's humble beginnings to the present day). It was probably one of the oldest standing buildings in the entire city as well: over two hundred years or so and virtually unchanged from the beautiful old architecture it had started out with. What made the job so intriguing to Stiles wasn't the history, however, but the high-tech goodies hidden inside, shielded by marble arches and gigantic pillars.

He marveled silently for a minute every time he passed the glass doors, a little awestruck at the sleek interior and feeling like he was terribly out of place. If you took away the green ropes flanking the lines, the teller booths, and the security guards, it might pass as a luxury hotel or a ritzy bar or something. In the lobby, the sounds of people were speaking in hushed voices and a large wall fountain endlessly flowing serenely created a tranquil atmosphere (if I yelled 'FUCK' right now everyone would shit themselves). Plump leather chairs were scattered around artfully, matching perfectly to the floor- grey marble tiling flecked with green, shining under the overhead lights like glinting emeralds. At the other end were the offices, most of the blinds drawn where clients could discuss their accounts or seek out financial advice for their latest investments.

The most beautiful things to Stiles, at least, were the expensive computer systems that each teller operated, or even the security systems in all their mechanical glory. He hid a small grin as he approached the employee entrance to the side and dug out the temporary identification the bank manager had supplied him. The security guard, a red-haired woman who gave him the same suspicious glare every single time he approached despite knowing who he was, snatched the plastic card from his fingers and peered at it carefully. 'Cause even though it's the same fucking ID the last twenty times you looked at it, today I might have switched it out for a fake one just to mess with you. Yeah, totally. Stiles waited impatiently, tapping his foot just to annoy her. As she reluctantly handed it over with a scowl, he swiped it back wordlessly as she unlocked the door with an electronic passkey that hung around her neck. Rude.

"You're late. Again."

Stiles groaned at the strawberry blonde bombshell who had obviously seen him enter the building. "Hey, Lydia. You're looking more ...radiant than usual, new shade of lipstick maybe?"

Lydia Martin was the assistant manager at Kleiner Danson, which was impressive considering she was the same age as Stiles. The day he met her he immediately could see the sharp intelligence hiding behind a wall of cool, untouchable beauty and for some reason they clicked in some way. She had mentioned offhandedly that most of her coworkers were 'brainless' and 'didn't understand ninety percent of her references'.

"That was definitely not your best but I'll accept it." Lydia sighed, unimpressed as she examined frighteningly long nails with a careful eye. "It's been that kind of morning."

"What's up?" He asked as they moved down the line towards the terminals at the very end, relieved at being let off the hook so easy. Stiles focused on the rhythmic sounds of Lydia's footsteps as he felt some of the people on the other side giving him strange looks. He knew he looked odd next to the staff, men and women he would bet on all having part-time careers as models or something. The uniform didn't really help disprove that theory- Lydia Martin looked stunning and ready for some glamorous party in a simple yet chic dark green blouse, black dress pants and some fearsome heels.

"Oh, the system had another crash last night and we lost some data here and there. It's not really that important, to be honest, but you know what Finstock gets like. He's been ranting and raving at me all morning." Lydia sighed, gracefully seating herself at a desk.

Stiles gave her a little grin. "I can't imagine anyone giving you a hard time of all people, even Finstock." Bob Finstock was the bank manager and Stiles' boss for the moment as well as Lydia's though it was obvious that the assistant ran much of the operations behind the scenes.

Her eyes narrowed at the thought as she opened a binder, slipping on some plain glasses that somehow looked stylish and cutting-edge just because they were on her, perfectly framing her brilliant hazel eyes. "Believe me, it never lasts long."

"Ah," Stiles nodded in understanding, dropping his backpack to the floor and taking his usual seat. "You give him the look of death right?"

"The what?" The assistant inquired sweetly, green eyes studying Stiles as if determining the best way to murder him without damaging her manicure.

"That's the one!" He whirled around in the chair to face the computer screen when she picked up a stapler threateningly, her signature stunning yet homicidal smile aimed at his direction. "Okay, working hard now! So what did we lose, exactly?"

"Nothing earth shattering, mostly the stuff you've been working on actually."

"Hmm that's too bad." He murmured, allowing himself a small smirk now that his back was turned and Lydia couldn't see the expression. After a couple of weeks of being able to use a computer in near privacy with no restraints to his web access (plus the weird almost-friends thing he had going with Lydia), Stiles didn't want to give it up the freedom. When he was almost done upgrading the bank's firewalls and port defenses, he slipped in a bug of his own creation that would periodically cause the system to glitch and cause some minimal mayhem. His plan worked perfectly, allowing him to drag the job out a little longer though he knew he couldn't push it too far without someone- probably Lydia, becoming suspicious of him eventually. While he was deathly afraid of Finstock finding out what he was doing, he was also confident enough in his abilities that no one would be able to trace his actions back to him.

A couple years back after he had really developed the base knowledge that Danny had given him, he had gotten a little too confident. Most of the tricks and cracks in his arsenal were ones he had taught himself by painstaking trial and error, alone in his room with no one to show him an easier way. Advice could be found from others on the internet but he preferred to figure things out on his own, only turning to the faceless web when his frustrations reached breaking point. Unfortunately for him, his target of choice was the police station where his father worked (he had wanted to read the files they had on him, word for word) and upon first clumsy breach of their systems they were alerted to his digital presence unbeknownst to the young hacker and he was caught soon after.

Having the record he did was already a long, black mark against him but he managed to narrowly avoid any jail time for the incursion. Instead there was a sentencing of some heavy-duty community service and not being allowed to own, even touch a computer (which made him die a little on the inside). He stumbled into his current job with a help of his father vouching for him, which he begrudgingly accepted as he realized it would be the perfect way to exploit the loophole in his sentence that made an exception for employment-related purposes.

So like every other morning, he began his usual routine. First he checked his email, which was always full to bursting in the forty-eight hours since he last checked it. He had a bit of a celebrity presence in certain digital circles and there was always a multitude of messages from prospective clients and interested parties. Quick ten word questions (delete- just hire me you cheapass) and the opposite on the irritating spectrum, long winded story-questions that never led anywhere interesting (TL;DR), combined to make the majority much to his displeasure. Delete, delete, delete, definitely not reading that one, delete- hmm, hello there.

What caught Stiles' eye was a temporary email address. You could get one in seconds and they usually expired within a day or two. He knew sometimes older or more paranoid clients would get them when they couldn't avoid the need for the technology, but otherwise you wouldn't really need one ... Unless you have something to hide, something quick and dirty. This could be interesting. He opened the email, not really expecting much.

"STILINSKI!" A voice roared suddenly in the quiet drone of the building.

Stiles' stomach dropped, instantly closing the window with a panicked click and starting up his actual work as Finstock stomped across the lobby, looking pissed as hell. With his hair sticking up on one side and eyes slightly crazed, most people in near vicinity broke off their conversations or work to watch the spectacle unfold.

"What the hell are you doing?" Finstock slapped the desk in front of him, Stiles flinching at the sound and not looking him in the eye.

"Uh, trying to- to solve the crashing problem, Mr. Finstock. Sir." He stammered out, knowing Lydia's eyes were on his back and feeling trapped between them.

"Well try harder! I'm trying to run a business here and I can't afford to have our systems crapping out when the only person who can actually fix the damn thing is late half the time!" Finstock took a deep breath, his face turning a little red from the exertion of his ranting. "Start being on time or don't bother showing up at all, we clear?"

He nodded at his lap, biting his lip and hoping the man was satisfied after tearing a strip off him.

Finstock huffed a little more and spun on his heel, stalking back to his office after muttering something that sounded like "Just like Greenburg, I swear ..."

Stiles was startled again seconds later when a hand touched his arm, but relaxed slightly when it was only the assistant.

"I think he accidentally let out a compliment there." Lydia spoke in a soft tone uncharacteristic of her usual severe demeanor. "Don't worry, he's not going to fire you. And I'll make sure he doesn't give your actual boss a bad report. I doubt he'll try that anyway- I think he knows we're lucky to have gotten someone almost as smart as me for the job." She gave a satisfied smirk at the tiny smile she coaxed out with her praise.

"Thanks, Lydia." He muttered, blushing slightly at her words.

"Don't worry about it," she gave him a pat, back to the ordinary cool tone. "Now let's get some work done. We need to make sure Finstock doesn't have any reason to ask us to stay late today because I have a hair appointment scheduled and I'm not missing it."

*************************************************

The hacker sat back in the chair with a content hum, having spent the morning going back and forth from distraction to distraction. Most of the time he wasn't even looking at his little bug, the actual problem, but rather going back over defenses he had already created. It was no wonder his customers were always happy with his work. He was aware how meticulous, bordering on obsessive he could be; always testing, rechecking code, experimenting, attacking what he had built only to see if it could withstand someone of his own skill. Sometimes in a rare moment he'd look on his creations with pride, doubting whether there was someone else in the whole city who could manipulate a computer to the level he could.

Stiles was having one of these moments when his stomach gave an embarrassingly loud gurgle.

"I think Finstock realizes you need to eat sometime. Go get some lunch."

He could practically feel Lydia's smirk behind him as he tried to laugh it off. "Yeah," he chuckled, forced and awkwardly mumbling out his words. "I'll uh ...I'll just run across the street. I'll try- I mean, I won't be long." A sound of agreement came from his empty belly and he hoped the floor might suddenly open beneath him so he could disappear on the spot.

"Stiles." She spoke in a deathly calm voice.

He froze halfway out of his chair.

"Just go." Lydia waved him away, not looking up her unenviable task of going through boxes of old records and trying to sort the relevant information from the garbage.

"Right. Okay, going." He grabbed his wallet and scurried out the way he came.

He passed through the security door and out into the lobby, the unfriendly guard from before nowhere to be found. He almost made himself laugh imagining the woman in his head scowling at a sandwich in a break room somewhere in the building. As he approached the front doors, head bowed so he didn't have to meet anyone's eyes as per usual, he reached out for the handle but his hand only touched air.

Stiles looked up with a blink, realizing someone was holding the door open for him. A grinning, rather good looking boy held the door, making a gesture with his free hand that plainly meant 'after you'.

"Thanks," he muttered to the stranger. He felt heat creep up the back of his neck as the guy continued to look at him as he passed. Quit staring, you asshole, with your nice smile and godly cheekbones-

Stiles made it about twenty feet before he got the courage to look back but found the polite stranger had disappeared into the afternoon crowds, his head of curls nowhere to be found. He shook his head, feeling ridiculous for the unease at the simple social instance.

It was a mild September so far, but there was a cold wind blowing as he walked down the street. He was glad he had decided on the extra layer. The people clogged the sidewalks just as badly as the morning and Stiles found himself regretting not bringing his own food so he wouldn't have to leave the building. Your own damn fault, come on, you got this. He concentrated on his own footsteps and trying not to get walked on which proved distracting enough for the moment. Luckily his preferred destination wasn't too far away from the bank.

On days Stiles felt brave enough to make the trip, Jesse's was his favorite place in the city to be. It was a small, unassuming looking place and not many people were usually there at one time (which was totally cool with him) though he knew from experience the bakery/bistro combo enjoyed a devoted customer base. As he opened the door, heavenly smells rushed out at him making his mouth water. The business was run by a local and his boyfriend, the pair sharing the duties of creating decadent baked goods and delicious food. Part of the fun of Jesse's was that their selections were completely random and decided on a whim- everyday was something different.

He got into line, trying to decide between the healthy option (a soup and sandwich combo) or just cramming a bag full of as many pastries as he could afford (what the hell is a 'mille-feuille', it looks amazing). The service there was polite but efficient- it was only a staff of two and although both men were very nice it was clear you got your amazing food and then got out of the way. The line moved quickly and Stiles was the next to order, finally having decided on the healthier option. However, before he could open his mouth his foot slipped under the mat in front of the cash register and he tripped forward, flailing wildly as he tried to regain his balance. Fortunately, he didn't lose his feet completely and brain himself on the edge of the counter.

Unfortunately, his twister of limbs did bump into the guy ahead of him hard enough to make him spill his newly purchased lunch, which looked like it had been tomato soup and maybe a coffee. It splashed all over the stranger's bright, white leather jacket and the floor, running down in orange streams and further spattering the legs of them both.

"Just a sec, I'll go grab a mop, you grab some towels." One of the men behind the counter spoke up to the other before moving quickly through the back door, his partner following close behind.

Stiles gulped as the guy he had knocked into turned around, jaw clenched and hands curled into tight fists. He could feel everyone in the bakery staring at them. Don't look at them don't look at them don't-

"What the FUCK." Snarled the guy, who Stiles now couldn't help but notice was devastatingly attractive. Oh my god is there a beautiful people convention going on today or something? "Do you know how expensive this jacket was? Do you?" The angry voice snapped him back into his currently humiliating position.

"I'm- I'm so sorry," he mumbled. "It was an accident, I-" The feeling of a dozen pairs of eyes boring into him was getting too much for Stiles to handle. He felt hot all over, like he was going to pass out. He had to get out of there-

Stiles suddenly found himself on the ground, a pair of strong arms shoving him backwards where he fell painfully on his tail bone. A few people cried out in indignation but no one stood up to help him, if anything they backed up, not wanting to get involved.

"Oops, sorry. That was an accident." The guy sneered mockingly, stepping closer.

-he landed roughly on the unforgiving concrete floor, scraping his skin and bruising deeply. The pain shot through his bones, his head throbbing from the lack of sleep and fresh abuse. He stared ahead at the man looming in the doorway, wishing desperately it would reach the point where he could pass out and leave this place for a while.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stilinski, but how are you ever going to learn better if you aren't properly put in your place?"

"Fuck you," he spat at him, the missile stopping short of the doctor's foot. His saliva was speckled with red. "You're n-not getting away with this, my Dad-"

The man laughed, drowning out his words. "Your idiot father eats up every detail I give him. He's not the brightest in his field, is he? What shall this lesson be, hmm? Have you been hurting yourself again or will it perhaps be an accident, you are a terribly clumsy-"

"Leave him alone."

Stiles fought back the memory threatening to overtake him, numbly looking up from the floor to see there was now a large wall between himself and his assailant.

"Hey, you touch me again my father'll sue your ass. David Whittemore, attorney. Ever heard of him?"

He blinked, trying to clear the panic-induced haze. It wasn't a wall- it was a person. Jeans and another leather jacket, this one black in contrast, thick and untamed hair much like his own used to be. He spoke in a deep, gruff voice that was more of growl than anything else.

"I don't give a fuck who your dad is, pretty boy. How about you leave before I break your arms?" He uttered the threat calmly but Stiles could hear the promise in it and tell it struck home by the moment of tense quiet that followed.

"You don't scare me," The angry guy scoffed but his legs disappeared from view as he backed up towards the door. "Whatever, not even worth it." He added lamely as he departed, the door slamming shut behind him, Stiles let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

His rescuer looked down at him with something Stiles couldn't quite identify in his piercing eyes, offering a hand. There was no word to describe him and do him justice, but handsome was the first and simplest thing that rang out in his mind.

He ignored the help, shakily getting to his feet on his own as he muttered to the stranger. "Y-yeah, uh, thanks for that." He felt himself blushing furiously, trying to look anywhere besides the intense gaze that continued to bore into him like a drill.

The man shoved his hands back in his pockets, seemingly not offended. With a nod, a curious expression like he suddenly understood something, the man suddenly departed, Stiles hurrying after him, face burning and longing for fresh air away from the staring customers. Although he was only about ten seconds behind him, once he was outside he saw his good looking rescuer was already long gone. Can this day get any weirder? No, no please don't let that jinx me, ah shit.

*************************************************

When Stiles got back to the bank, on time thanks to his wolfing down a very unsatisfying, really gross hot dog from one of the numerous stalls on the way, he was almost pleased to see that Lydia's day had apparently also joined his in its level of shitiness. He found her in a corner of the lobby, texting furiously with a look of intense concentration. As soon as there appeared to be a brief break in her missives, he closed the distance and greeted her.

"Hey, I'm back."

"I can see that," she snapped. "Oh my god, you have no idea how badly I want this day to be over with."

Stiles shook his head. "Pretty sure I do." I just had the weirdest meetings with not one but a fucking slew of handsome but terrifying men, I really can't handle much more in one day.

"Don't patronize me, Stilinski, I'm not in the mood." Lydia took a second to glare at him before returning her eyes to the tiny screen that was flooded with messages. "Finstock decides to tell me five minutes before the fact that I'm apparently training a newbie today, then my boyfriend starts freaking out because some guy ruined his jacket at lunch- what's wrong with you? You look like you're going to throw up and if that's the case, you need to take about five steps back because these are Chanel pumps."

Fucking shit, what are the chances?

"Anyway, I'm wondering what the hell he wants me to do about it but I swear, once he gets like this he's more of a princess than I am." She rolled her eyes in disgust as she shoved her phone in her pocket while it was mid-vibration. "I can't deal with this right now. Come on, you're keeping me company so I don't murder the new girl."

"Sure thing," Stiles replied weakly, following Lydia as she angrily stalked away with a toss of her hair and wondering what he could have done to piss the universe off. A few people hurried out of their way, less than eager to engage the terrifying vision of a pissed off Lydia Martin.

As they reached the well-used employee entrance leading to the teller booths, Stiles noted the grumpy security was still absent. Long lunch break? As Lydia scanned her pass, he felt someone looking at him and knew at once this was no usual paranoia. He fumbled for his phone, using the camera as a makeshift mirror. He tried to get the proper angle as stealthily as possible and was rewarded with the feeling of being proven correct. In the tiny screen, he could see a man near the back of the lobby who was still in the doorway of a small closet. He was bald or at least near it from what Stiles could tell, dark skinned and built like a tank, wearing some sort of jumpsuit. It's just one of the janitors, paranoid much?. Stiles tried to rationalize the unease away but something about the man just seemed out of place and it bothered him a little.

"Stilinski, hello? Still with me?"

"What?" He coughed, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he quickly grabbed the door from Lydia and followed her inside. "Yeah, sorry."  
At the end of the teller line, occupying Stiles' usual work space, was a girl with long blonde hair who didn't seem to notice them approach. She was staring out into the lobby and watching the people go back and forth about their business through impossibly thick glasses. As they closed the distance Stiles could see deep acne scars on each of the girl's cheeks and noticed a slight tremor in her lip that appeared as she realized they were heading straight towards her. I hope I looked at least a little calmer on my first day. No, probably not, Stiles thought with a slight cringe as he did his best to look friendly.

"Ms. M-Martin?" The girl questioned, her voice unsure and quiet as a mouse. Stiles could barely hear her from a few feet away.

Lydia attempted a smile and held out her hand. "The one and only. You must be ..." She trailed off.

"Carie, Ms. Martin." The girl squeaked as they shared an awkward handshake.

"Right, right." Lydia examined her nails, gesturing to Stiles. "This is Stiles Stilinski-"

"Oh!" Carie didn't wait for the offer, instead opting to grab Stiles' hand and pump it vigorously. "Th-thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Stilinski, I promise I won't let it go to waste. I'll- I'll do my best to help the branch in any way I can, Sir."

Lydia's face went from perplexed to amused in two seconds flat as Stiles turned red, trying to stammer out an explanation of the mistake but Lydia of course beat him to it first. "No, sweetie, Stilinski isn't the manager here. Not with all that metal in his face."

The mistaken girl matched Stiles' particular shade of red. "I'm ...I'm so sorry!"

Stiles winced, shaking his head. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

"Yes, let's not." Lydia drawled, her frown returning. "Alright, Branch Manager Stilinski here needs to get to work. Us girls are going to fill out some paperwork before we start your training. Won't that be fun?" The sarcasm was doled out in a sweet sounding voice that seemed to go over the girl's head completely as she nodded excitedly.

Stiles logged back in on the computer, trying to find where he left off before his lunch break. He opened his work and stared at it for about ten seconds before his work ethic crumbled into dust. I can finish this tomorrow in like five minutes anyway. After a lengthy tumblr session he checked his email again compulsively, not really expecting anything when a message that was marked as already read caught his attention- the email from earlier that he was about to read when Finstock decided to scare the shit out of him. He clicked it open again hungrily, hoping for an interesting diversion from the rest of the work day.

**FR: dji8k8m+aohf4w@guerrillamail.com**

**TO: me**

**SUBJECT: an offer**

**i know who are you and what you can do. i think you can help me with this problem:**

What followed was string upon string of elaborate code that Stiles' eyes devoured in full before his brow furrowed as he considered the lack of context before him. It was hard to pin down exactly what he was looking at without knowing its origins. It could be a virus someone wanted his help in completing, or something as innocent as the guts of a computer game exploit. Still, that it was presented to him as a problem made his fingers twitch over the keyboard.

He bit his lip as he studied the mysterious greeting closer. It's probably someone too cheap or too poor to actually hire me, since they know 'what I can do'. The subject is 'an offer' though, what's that all about? Are they offering a reward or is the chance to solve the 'problem' the reward itself? No, I got it: this is a test to see if I'm good enough for them. I guess there's no harm in showing off a little. His hands hovered above the keys for a second longer before the curiosity beat his hesitation and the mystery code was copied into his own programs. He began to happily dissect it, picking it apart piece by piece until patterns hidden within became obvious.

*************************************************

With a sharp click of the mouse, Stiles returned the odd email with his own additions as a slight pride twinkled to life within him. He spun around in his chair, making a slow circle as he wondered if biting the hook, let alone responding at all was a smart decision. Too late now, stupid. Still, it was only a minor regret. There was only one thing he felt confident in and that was his computer skills. Unfortunately, it wasn't often he got to use them and get that little rush of self confidence he needed. Stiles glanced over at booth a few registers down where Lydia was explaining different procedures and technical aspects to Carie. The girl appeared to be listening raptly despite the incessant hum of the other tellers speaking in quiet tones to their customers to either side of them in the background.

"At the beginning of your shift, whoever's supervising at the time will get your cash drawer and you'll log in at the same time using your pass as well as theirs. Same thing when your shift is over: you'll need two keys to log off. Most of them aren't complete idiots and they'll know everyone's shift that day so you won't have to worry about them forgetting you. Now we're- goddamn it, Jackson!"

Lydia scowled, either oblivious to or ignoring the fact she almost caused a heart attack in the nervous girl in front of her with her sudden outburst. The assistant huffed as she dug out her phone which was now vibrating at constant split second intervals. She spun on her heel and stalked over to her office, spitting out words over her shoulder. "I'll be right back, this is a personal emergency, apparently."

Stiles watched her go, not surprised at the flare of drama but hoping fervently that his description wouldn't come up in the ensuing conversation. He turned to say something encouraging to Carie but the girl appeared to be fine. Actually, if I didn't know better I'd say that's a whole new girl. Carie's posture had straightened into a more confident stance, her lips pursed and eyes losing their almost comical deer-in-the-headlights look. She cocked her head slightly, looking down at the panic buttons hidden underneath each register and was reaching out with a steady hand towards the wiring when she stopped suddenly and turned to stare directly at Stiles. She smiled and the expression had a slyness, a curious knowledge to it that made him deeply uncomfortable.

At the sound of Lydia's heels against the tiled floor, the act (as he was now convinced it was) fell back in place. He watched the trainee relax back into a poor posture and her expression twist into something unsure, something timid as her hands clutched together in a picture of a young girl uncomfortable in her new job. It was a near flawless facade. What the hell...

Lydia gave a forced smile that Stiles suspected was close to cracking if she tried any harder. "So sorry about that, let's continue. I suppose we should go speak with Mr. Finstock before we go any further, and I'll apologize in advance for the things that come out of his mouth. We'll need him to set you up with a pass and your own log in numbers."

Carie nodded earnestly. "Alright, Ms. Martin, I'd like that." As they turned to leave, she turned and gave Stiles a wink before seconds later a loud, rumbling boom rang out. There were cries as a tremor shook the building, a pen rolling off Lydia's desk and the clatter of it hitting the floor was lost in the noise. A few of the girls crouched down in their booths, terrified at the unknown noise as customers and employees alike rushed towards the front doors in a panic. Holy shit, what's happening?

"Outside!" Someone yelled out. "There's been an explosion!"

Sure enough, Stiles meekly followed in Lydia's unshaken path towards the front of the bank where through the glass doors, they could see black plumes of smoke pouring out from a building across the street. The street was littered with of broken glass that glittered like pieces of gold in the setting sun as people looked on in fear at the smoldering, burnt-out ruins.

"What the hell happened?" Lydia murmured as they watched the chaos together through the glass, people hurrying around them. "Huh, Two Moons."

Stiles looked at her, confused. "What?"

She shook her head. "Two Moons. It's a jewelry boutique. Not much flammable material in there. Maybe they were robbed?" She mused outloud, crossing her arms as police cars and a fire engine screeched onto the street. "Too bad, I have some nice pieces from there."

Stiles was about to comment on her theory when he realized they were missing someone. "Hey, where did she go?"

"Who?"

"The girl you were training, Carie." Stiles scanned the crowd that was left in the lobby but he didn't see the blonde anywhere. He had a feeling they wouldn't be seeing her again anytime soon for some reason, although he knew that didn't really make much sense.

Lydia shrugged, unconcerned. "She's either still hiding out back or ran off, I suppose." She gave a sigh, seemingly already bored with the drama unfolding on the street. "People lose their heads so easily. Well, looks like we're done for the day. I need to help Finstock lock up or he'll be here all night. I can give you a ride home if you don't mind waiting?"

"Nah, it's cool. I'll walk. See you tomorrow." Lydia wandered off in search of the bank manager as Stiles continued to watch the smoke billow up into the air. I'm starting to think ...no, that's crazy. You're making connections where there aren't any. Your life has become that pathetic, congratulations. He waited until the crowds hanging out the door had thinned a little before slipping outside, smelling the acrid aftermath carried to him on the breeze. He shook his head as he stuck his headphones on. If this doesn't beat Scott's day I'm eating this sweater.


	3. Pistol Whipped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you look so pretty when you cry  
> don't wanna hit you  
> but the only thing  
> between our love is  
> a bloody nose  
> a busted lip  
> and a blackened eye
> 
> (i wanna have your ache and beat you too)

"Stiles?"

He looked up at the woman who had stopped next to his chair in the vacant waiting room. The only sound was the secretary typing quietly in the background. She smiled down at him, a beige knitted sweater with small green detailing of vines and plants. Her smile was easy and there was a clear warmth about her- a matronly aura. He didn't trust her. He didn't trust anyone anymore.

"My name is Rosalyn Wells. Would you mind coming with me? I'd very much like to talk to you, if that's okay."

He stared down at his lap, hands tugging each other in a ceaseless gesture that was born of his near constant state of nervousness. He looked at his father in a sideways glance as if waiting for a second evaluation of the stranger addressing him. His mind became a whirlwind of thoughts spilling into each other. It dizzied him, made him feel like he was going to lift off the uncomfortable seat beneath him and fly up into the ceiling.

"It's okay, son. I'll be right here." His father touched his shoulder, the contact not helping his beginning distress and making him feel more solid somehow at the same time. His father shared a look with the woman as Stiles flinched and squirmed until the offending appendage was removed.

He stood wordlessly and reluctantly followed the woman through a door and down a short corridor. As she opened a door, she turned back to him with an understanding look in her eye as she motioned to the room. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"I know this isn't easy for you."

At her words he looked up, meeting her studying gaze for the first time. He felt like he was under a microscope, like she was seeing more of him than he wanted to reveal. It made him feel naked, vulnerable.

"Just remember, no one is keeping you here except you. Just breathe. You're in complete control."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a tentative step across the threshold. The woman nodded approvingly as he slowly took six steps forward, enough to make it to a leather chair where he quickly sat down. Once he had a clear view of the entire room he stared at the distance from where he was to the only way out. A clear escape route. His pupils dilated as the woman closed the door gently with a click that made him twitch. The room started to close in, imploding around him-

"Stiles? I'm not going to lock the door, okay? I just need us to be able to speak in complete privacy. Remember, you can leave whenever you want. I'm not going to stop you. Do you understand?"

He shut his eyes, concentrated on the thud of his pounding heart. He listened to it gradually slow, his breathing returning to its usual rhythm. He could hear leather creak as the woman sat in another chair, a twin to his own, across a table between them.

There was a silence in the small office for some time, how long he couldn't say exactly. He cracked open an eye to peek at a clock behind the woman's chair. They had been sitting there for half an hour. She had been writing on a large notepad with a pen that resembled a small tulip. He stared at the floor sullenly, aching to return to the darkness of his bedroom where he was safe under the covers.

"I think it would be best if we got to know each other a little, Stiles. I suppose you should know a little bit more about me besides my name." She smiled warmly, seemingly not disheartened at all by his continued silence and lack of acknowledgment. "As I said, my name is Rosalyn Wells. I'm work in the field of psychology and most of my clients are young adults much like yourself. If you're open to it, we'll work together to discover why you're feeling the way you are and if our sessions prove fruitful, we can change that. If you don't want to do this, that's fine. I won't be offended. Just consider it as an alternative option to what you're going through now and know your father has contacted me on your behalf. He believes that I can help you, and I'd like to if you'll let me. Now, would you like to tell me anything about yourself? Anything at all?"

He stared at the floor.

"I think that's enough for today then." She spoke gently, clicking the pen and not missing the way her young client flinched at the sound. "There's no rush, Stiles. You can talk when you're ready. I hoping before you go, though, that you might accept a little gift from me before you leave today?"

Stiles looked up, curious as to what sort of present he'd receive from the stranger who uncrossed her legs and pushed something across the table towards him.

"I won't lie to you, it's more of a little homework assignment," the doctor joked, her eyes crinkling with her smile. "But it's not too bad, I promise."

It was a plain, blue journal. He looked at it a moment before hesitantly reaching out, picking it up. He opened it and flipped the pages. All the pages were still blank.

"That's for you to fill with whatever you want. It might be easier for now while we're still unfamiliar with each other to write the things you don't feel comfortable saying out loud. You can write anything, but each session I will give you an idea to start you off. It's just a suggestion though, so keep that in mind. There's no wrong subject, and whatever you choose will be kept between you and I; it's completely confidential. The only time I'll be forced to break that confidentiality is if you lead me to believe you're thinking of hurting yourself or someone else. Does that all make sense?"

Stiles said nothing, staring down at the journal with a frown. He just wanted to leave. He didn't want to talk ever again.

"I'd like you to try writing about how you're feeling now and tell me something about you, what makes you 'Stiles'. Focus on the present- what's going on in your life at this point." She paused as she got to her feet and opened the door, silent on its hinges. "It was good to meet you, Stiles. I'll see you next week, okay?"

**************************************************

The journal came with him to the next meeting even though it was still empty. The doctor had told his father of his 'assignment' and John had made sure it accompanied him though he had tried to shove it under his bed and forget it existed.

"Your father tells me you haven't spoken since you came home," Wells spoke as she referenced her notes. "From ...Elmond House?"

Just hearing the name made him feel cold, his hands gripping the sides of the chair. It didn't go unnoticed as the doctor made careful observation of her patient's curious reaction.

"He also mentioned you had made a good friend during your stay there, a 'Daniel'?" The woman spoke nonchalantly, tulip pen forever scribbling.

"Danny." He croaked out the name, surprising himself as the doctor hid a pleased smile.

"I'm sorry, my mistake." Wells underlined the name in her notes, having made the subtle error on purpose to try and coax the boy into speaking. She was about to inquire further into the subject when her patient continued to speak on his own without her prodding, his voice rusty with disuse.

"He left."

"You mean he left ...the facility? His stay was over before yours, then?" The doctor caught herself before she said the full name, not wanting to trigger any attacks after they had made progress. A tiny victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Stiles nodded. "He left ...while I was-"

Wells waited for him to continue but the boy stared down at the floor, regressing back into silence again. "While you were what, Stiles?" She asked as gently as she could, pen poised on the edge of the papers on her lap.

No response.

"That's fine for today. I'm very proud of you, Stiles. I know it doesn't seem like much now, but you made some real progress already. It can be scary to open up and let someone in to see the real you. Look at it like this: with the few words you just spoke, you took back a little of yourself. You fought against the fear and drove it back a little, just a little. That's something to be proud of." Wells smiled, knowing the boy was listening to her words and digesting them despite the silence that followed her speech.

**************************************************

By their fifth session the journal was no longer blank. Doctor Wells flipped open the cover to see a violent looking scribble in the top left margin. In her mind she imagined a pencil clutched tightly in hand, moving closer until lead was pressed to paper, only to scrawl away the aborted thoughts at the last second. She hummed to herself thoughtfully and let the cover fall closed.

Progress was slow and so far the cocoon of anxiety that surrounded the boy showed little sign of unraveling. Rosalyn had spoken at great length with John Stilinski about his son's current state of mind but the man had little to offer her in terms of understanding. He did mention, somewhat sheepishly, that she was the fourth mental health professional he had sought out. She had frowned at that, as her records had no indication of previous doctors. John had been quiet for a moment before admitting that his son hadn't actually spoken to any of the other therapists- he had refused them all outright.

Wells had asked John for the contact information of the other doctors which he provided without question, uncertain as to the point but becoming emotionally drained between his job and his child. She had called and spoken to each of them briefly, not sure what she was looking for until after the last call when she realized that the other three therapists were all men. She dismissed it as coincidence.

**************************************************

Rosalyn Wells beamed. Stiles had managed to fill up half a page in messy, poorly written words that took her some time to read. After a month and a half of hours spent talking to the silent boy, to her it might as well have been a beautiful sunset. The topic she had given him to write about was 'family'. If she was being honest, it had gotten to the point where she began to doubt anything else would appear on the pages. As she read in front of her patient who stared at the wall, disinterested or perhaps unable to watch as someone gained entry to his thoughts.

**when i was little mom used to get up on sunday mornings and make breakfast for me and dad. dad worked the night shifts on the weekend, he'd sleep in while she made chocolate chip pancakes. i'd wake up smelling them and i'd run downstairs to help her. when dad came downstairs the kitchen was wrecked. mom made them from scratch, and we'd throw flour around and stuff. she let me add extra chocolate chips if i promised to help clean up after.**

The words alternated between dark grooves like the pencil was being crushed into the paper and thin whispers of grey like messages from a phantom. Rosalyn took a moment to reread the short paragraph, struggling for the first time in a long time to keep her emotions pleasantly neutral. She felt a joy that was wrapped in a veil of sadness for the broken child in front of her, placed in her care.

"I miss her."

Wells blinked, recovering from the surprise as fast as she could. She knew from her talks with John that the late Mrs. Stilinski had died when Stiles was eleven. The poor woman had been driving home one day from the elementary school she taught at when another car had run a red light and collided with her vehicle. "Of course you do, Stiles. She's your mom, she'll always be your mom even if she's not around anymore- physically, at least. She's still here in your memories and in your heart. Don't forget that."

The boy nodded slowly, absently playing with a stray thread in his shirt. He spoke again, blindsiding the therapist with his next words and abrupt change in subject. "I hope Dad is paying you a lot."

Wells' pen quivered curiously above the paper. "Why do you say that, Stiles?"

He shrugged, reading the titles of books on the doctor's shelves. "I feel bad for wasting your time."

Rosalyn set her clipboard aside for the moment and considered her patient gravely. "Stiles, honey, you're not a waste of my time. This is my job and more importantly my passion. I don't come to work for the paycheck- I come to help my patients and that includes you. You're important, Stiles. I hope you realize that. You matter, and you deserve to be happy as much as anyone else. I want to help you get there and if it takes a long time, that's okay. We're here about you, not me. Plus, you don't think this old gal has anywhere else more pressing to be than here, do you?"

Stiles met her eyes for the first time, a small smile so close to the surface his lips visibly twitched.

"Besides," Wells continued in a joking tone, a twinkle in her eye. "Right now because you're under eighteen years of age, the state acts as parent in instances such as this. So actually the government employs me, not your father. Although he might be willing to cut a deal on the side in this case, what do you think, is he that sort of officer?" Rosalyn wanted to jump up despite the arthritis in her back and run around her office in the moment Stiles made an amused sound in the back of his throat. It wasn't quite the laugh it could have been, but she decided that beggars couldn't be choosers, and that was just fine.

**************************************************

Doctor Wells vibrated with excitement in her seat. She had been watching the clock all morning waiting for her appointment with Stiles. On her desk rested an envelope that had been waiting with her other mail earlier and the timing couldn't have been better. Stiles was making quite the progression, now almost having whole conversations with her during their sessions. She was quite confident that soon they could close the divide and really delve into the roots of the issue. The letter in the envelope would possibly be a massive jump forward and the therapist couldn't wait to see his face when she read the words out loud.

When he arrived, letting himself in and even closing the door himself, Stiles seemed calm and content rather than the disconcerting silence that had been the staple of their early meetings. He sat himself in his usual spot, journal tucked under one arm. He even gave the woman a small nod in greeting, a tiny warmth flickering to life in his eyes.

"Hey Doctor Wells."

"Good morning, Stiles. How are you?" Rosalyn beamed, sure her excitement was palpable and close to overflowing out into the office.

"I'm okay." He looked his therapist over, puzzled by her demeanor. "You seem ...happy?"

"Well I did receive a little surprise in the mail today," she answered with a slightly mischievous smile. "I think you'll enjoy it too." Under his curious eyes she waved the envelope in the air and removed the papers inside with a flourish. "I received a positively glowing letter today from a good friend of yours."

Stiles made a face as if to question the existence of any friends but realization came over him, a look like Christmas had come early appearing on his face. He fidgeted in his seat, almost bouncing with excitement that bubbled and popped like champagne. "Danny? Danny wrote to me?"

Rosalyn's smile faltered a second as she slowly shook her head. "No honey, I'm sorry. I've given it a look but they're very strict with the records of youth. I'm not sure how to get in contact with him." The doctor felt like crawling into a hole and never coming out at the look on her patient's face. She had just told him Christmas was cancelled.

"There's no one else who would write me." His disappointment lent the words a flat tone, devoid of much except a quiet emptiness.

"Well sure there is! I happen to have a letter from your other friend, your old doctor! A ...Alan Carson?"

The terror popped the fading excitement inside him instantly; it washed over him he lost where he was for a moment, coming back to feel hot tears in a river down his cheeks, the front of his shirt wet and slimy from where he had apparently thrown up on himself. He started to shake, shame and past echoes of fear running through him like an electric current. Tendrils of nausea rolled over his stomach in waves as the smell of his vomit curled up into his nose, he gagged, began choking for breath.

Doctor Wells came to his side, concern and alarm spreading across her features. "Shh, don't move, honey. Just calm down, it's okay. You're okay." As his quaking arms snaked around her waist and clung desperately, Rosalyn hugged him back, stroking his hair as she tried to figure out what had just happened. She made a mental note to get into contact with Doctor Carson as soon as possible. Something was terribly wrong.

**************************************************

The phone rang six times. Rosalyn had a glass of wine earlier but it did nothing to soothe her nerves. She was about to give up and have another when a man's gruff voice answered brusquely.

"This is Carson."

"Hello, Doctor Carson? This is Doctor Rosalyn Wells calling. I'm just over at-"

"I know who you are. How can I be of service, Ms. Wells?"

The tone with which he spoke did not match up in the slightest with the willingness to help that his words suggested. Rosalyn decided at once she did not like the man but tried to remain civil, at least until she got the information she wanted.

"I received a letter from you today concerning Stilinski-"

"Ah, Stilinski!" Carson's voice boomed through the phone as though he were being loud on purpose. Rosalyn wondered if he thought Stiles was in the room with her. She found it very curious albeit irritating as the man continued to interrupt her. "Yes, Stilinski. I understand you've taken over his continuing, ah, mental care?"

"Yes, that's right. As I was saying, I received your letter and thought that since you had a ...good relationship with Stiles he might enjoy hearing the kind compliments you paid him but he had a-" A vision of a shaking boy, eyes red with tears and pupils dilated in sheer terror filled her head, a shiver running down the doctor's spine. "- ...peculiar reaction."

Carson grunted over the phone. "Did he now? Well, that's to be expected."

This comment caught Wells off guard. "I'm sorry, I don't understand." She grit her teeth as the man answered, the smugness dripping through the phone.

"Oh? Well, assuming you took the time to read my past reports, doctor, you'd be aware that Stilinski has quite the violent past and reacts very negatively to almost every sort of therapy attempted. I had hoped a letter of sincerity on my part and a frankly generous examination of his time at Elmond House might be a nudge towards a more positive attitude, but alas."

Again, Rosalyn saw Stiles in her mind, hugging her close as he cried until he could barely breathe, holding on as she managed to waddle them both closer to her desk so she could call John. Her instincts screamed for her to not trust the man on the other end of the phone.

"I apologize, doctor (she let the barest hint of mockery enter her tone, sure that he would notice but be too polite to comment), but I do not agree with that analysis."

Carson scoffed, an edge of annoyance creeping in the more he spoke. "I assure you, you've not seen the worst of Stilinski yet. He is simply luring you in with a rather clever facade. He really is quite manipulative."

Wells smiled to herself, imagining Carson was not one whose word was not immediately accepted as truth. "I was wondering actually if you'd do me the favor of- educating me as to any important events that took place during his stay at your facility; Anything he's likely to remember as being particularly significant. Does anything come to mind, Doctor Carson?" She questioned sweetly, knowing the veiled threat that was hidden yet perfectly obvious to someone as sharp as Carson.

"I'm afraid our conversation has to end here, Ms. Wells." Carson said in a cool voice. "I have more important things to do than to waste an evening recounting histories already documented in my reports, which are all at your disposal already, are they not? If you want to listen to some troubled young man's twisted account and take that at face value, you are not the professional you believe yourself to be."

"Doctor Carson-"

He had already hung up, the tone keening in her ear before she set the phone back on the receiver. Rosalyn pulled her house coat around her tighter as she considered the irritated doctor's parting words. He warned her not to trust Stiles' recollections of his time at Elmond House, but the boy hardly spoke and when he did it was never concerning the home. She decided to send an email to Carson in the next couple of days, hopefully catching the man in a better mood.

**************************************************

"Doctor Wells?"

Rosalyn paused in her typing as the secretary's voice buzzed out of the intercom on her desk. "Yes, dear?"

"John Stilinski is here to see you."

The doctor frowned. The man had called earlier to cancel Stiles' appointment for the afternoon so there wasn't much reason for him to show up without his son in tow. He also preferred to communicate with her through short emails given his hectic work schedule. "Send him in, Debby, thank you."

Moments later her office door slammed open and an obviously angry John stomped through the doorway.

"What the hell happened?" He demanded, face red and chest heaving with emotion. The doctor noticed immediately he carried something wrapped in a plastic grocery bag under his arm but didn't let her eyes linger on it for long.

"Mr. Stilinski, please come in." She spoke calmly as she immediately attempted to defuse the situation. "You're upset. Please, have a seat." The doctor waited patiently until John reluctantly sat in the chair his son would usually be occupying. She smiled and rose to her feet, turning to a small table behind her desk where a coffee pot was plugged into the wall. "There's one in the break room that I could use, but it's nice to have my own private machine close by during the day." She said, gesturing to the set of mugs and spoons that were laid out neatly beside it with a small smile. "Of course that means I get more caffeine in a work day than I probably should. Can I get you a cup? I made a fresh pot just a little while ago."

"Please." John nodded wearily, all anger leaving him in a rush and looking slightly deflated. It was obvious by the wrinkles in his uniform and the bags under his eyes that the officer wasn't sleeping. Neither adults had been the last few nights.

"Milk? Sugar?"

"No, thank you. I'm sorry for barging in on you like this, you must have other kids to deal with."

Rosalyn smiled graciously, handing the distraught man the steaming mug. "Not until later. Stiles was my only patient before lunch time today. He usually gives me lots to think about during the rest of the morning."

"Don't I know it." John muttered with a shake of his head.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Stilinski? The secretary told me you cancelled our session because Stiles was feeling under the weather but I'll admit that you being here does worry me."

The sheriff looked away, eerily mimicking his son's motions during his first visits. It took a little while for him to gather his thoughts but Rosalyn waited. After all, she had plenty of practice in that department. "Frankly, no. After ...last week, he- Stiles, he's completely shut down again. I've tried to be home with him this week as much as I can but he's just- he won't look at me. It's like he's gone backwards to the first day he came home and I- what happened? Is it my fault?"

"John, nothing I can say will erase what you're feeling but please know that you're not to blame for this change. Sometimes in my line of work it's not uncommon for a patient to backslide, to lose the ground they've gained over their symptoms. The mind is a hard thing to heal, especially with one like Stiles' when you're not certain what's ailing it." She paused to take a sip, careful with her next words. Wells knew she should tell the man exactly what happened during the last session but her intuition told her to wait for now, to feel out the unknown and possibly volatile situation. "For now have faith that he'll pull through it. He's gotten part of the way once- you've seen it yourself, and having made it that far it won't be as hard as the first time now that he can retrace his steps."

"Makes sense," John digested the words tiredly. "I just- I'm exhausted. After his mom passed away and work picked up, I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't be dumping this on you. I'm not usually this much of a mess, I promise. I just ...want my son to be okay."

Rosalyn smiled kindly around her cup. "It's no trouble, really. Raising a child is the toughest job, as they say. It's hard for two people and even harder for one. I think you're doing the best you can under the circumstances though and maybe not now, but in time I think Stiles will realize that as well. All you can do for now is love him, be there for him, and hope that's enough. If it's any consolation to you, I believe that it is."

The sheriff gave a weary look in return but he did look a little happier. "I see why Stiles likes you so much now."

Rosalyn tried not to beam, a warmth spreading through her. "I'm quite fond of your son. He's a bright young man. Once he gets himself sorted out, he'll do great things, I'm sure of it."

"I hope so." John sighed, then remembered part of the purpose of his visit as he pulled out the wrapped object from where it was wedged between the armchair and himself. "Anyway, I thought it was important that you take a look at this. That book you gave him? He drew in it sometime last night. He's still not talking but it was waiting for me on the kitchen table when I got home from work."

"He drew something ...a picture? Of what?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

Wells watched, fascinated, as John unwrapped the journal as though it were a precious artifact that might crumble away to dust. He opened it gently to the page he spoke of and Rosalyn noted the ragged edge where multiple pages had been torn out. She mused privately that they must have been rough drafts. In the center of the page deemed worthy enough to stay attached, Stiles had drawn a long rectangle in shaky lines. In the middle third was another thin rectangle laid horizontally on top of the first, and what looked to be some sort of squarish shape with a keyhole drawn over that. The larger rectangle had been shaded in roughly leaving blank patches sporadically dotting it and a long crooked line covered one half.

"It's ...a door?"

John leaned back in his chair, staring at the drawing like a math problem he had no hope of solving. "Exactly what I thought. I've looked at the damn thing for hours but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be seeing. It's just a door."

"Well," Rosalyn began gently. "I wouldn't say it's 'just a door'. Your son drew it for a reason."

"But why? I don't understand. I'm so sick of not understanding." The man's voice was a well of subdued despair.

"I'm not sure," the doctor murmured in reply. "John, do you mind if I hold onto this for a little while?"

**************************************************

Outside the gates at Elmond House, Rosalyn felt a thrill of trepidation run through her and pulled her coat tighter around her as if she could ward off the feeling. The grounds were mottled and dead-looking, not yet invigorated with Spring. Piles of dirty snow still lingered along the gravel path like misshapen sentries watching her pass by in silence, closer towards the security gate.

The doctor readied herself, repeating the memorized lines in her head as she approached the only entrance to the inner grounds of the building. It was possibly the most daring thing she had ever done- and also not strictly professional either but Carson had ignored the messages she left and all the emails she had been sending over the past week so she felt like she had been given little choice. Stiles had missed three sessions now and something about the boy felt wrong. It constantly gnawed at her mind and needled her intuition. She told herself after she saw the facility for herself she could put her paranoia to rest and give her patient the full attention he deserved.

Stiles' drawing was folded into a square, tucked inside her purse. Rosalyn wasn't sure why she had brought it with her but since coming into her possession the piece of paper had rarely left her person. She painted on a smile and reached inside to touch the edge of the paper, her good luck charm of sorts for the moment.

The man inside the security booth was sitting with his legs propped up, face hidden with a book of crosswords. He didn't notice her until she tapped on the glass between them, giving a polite cough. The guard startled, legs disappearing from the desk with some difficulty as he sputtered a greeting.

"So sorry, Miss, didn't see you there. What can I do for you?"

Rosalyn tried to let her age creep into her voice as much as possible. People generally found the elderly disarming which she was planning on using to her advantage. "Not a problem, dear. This old bird isn't in any hurry." She smiled warmly as the guard's posture relaxed a little, obviously relieved he wasn't going to get in any trouble with his boss. "I'm Doctor Wells. Alan wanted me to pop in and drop off some files on some of his new boys."

The man eyed her for a moment, taking her in completely, but he didn't seem to be suspicious (she made sure to dress with the frumpiest coat she owned). "Would you mind sliding your identification through the slot here, Doctor?"

"Oh, of course, dear." She set it on the counter, praying for success as she continued to smile in a dazed sort of way.

"You know, it's supposed to storm later. You couldn't have faxed your files over? I wouldn't want to be on the roads this afternoon, that's a pretty long drive back to the city."

"I don't have a fax machine, dear. Not even a computer! I'm a bit of a technophobe, between you and I." She tittered at the dishonest self-deprecation, impressed with herself for the ease and smoothness of her lie.

The man smiled, shaking his head as he passed her licenses back under the glass along with a log that she signed with an incomprehensible scribble. "The gate's unlocked, Doctor Wells. Let me just phone ahead and let Doctor Carson know you're coming."

Rosalyn watched with horror as the man's hand slowly reached for the phone on his desk, struggling to come up with something. "That's ...very sweet of you, dear, but you wouldn't do me a favor and let me surprise him? I know where I'm going, don't worry about me."

The man hesitated and she could almost see his ears prick up. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but there's a pretty strict protocol with visitors. Doctor Carson is supposed to be notified of anyone entering the premises."

She nodded slowly, trying to look distraught. "Oh my, but I just- no, I shouldn't say. I wouldn't want you to get in any trouble." Rosalyn desperately hoped the bluff would land its mark.

The guard's features softened, hand retreating from the phone with a raised brow.

"Well," she laughed nervously. "You caught me. I could have faxed my files over but I've been emailing Alan back and forth and he's been so kind- I'm afraid I may have developed a little crush on the man. I even baked some peanut butter cookies for him as a surprise, they are his favorite you know, you can even look in my purse if you like." She moved to remove the strap from her shoulder but could see her hoax was working perfectly.

"No, no, Miss Wells. That won't be necessary." The guard raised his hands in surrender with a smirk, looking like he was on the verge of laughing. "I'll let you through for today."

She gave the man a wink as she walked through the gate. "Thank you, dear. Next time I'll bake some extra for you."

"I'd like that very much, Doctor. You have a good day now."

"You as well. Don't worry, I'll tell him it was completely my idea. I wouldn't want you to get in any trouble, sweetie."

As the man smiled and waved her off, Rosalyn moved as quickly as she could towards the front doors of the building. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she realized how lucky she was her ruse worked and the guard didn't insist on searching her sadly cookie-less purse. She took a deep breath as she cracked open the front doors, slipping silently inside.

Rosalyn had seen pictures of the interior on the internet but the beauty of the old building was something to marvel at in person. She immediately looked towards the front desk, expecting to continue her facade in the attempt to fool one more person but the lobby was empty. Two boys walked past her, one looking up at her nervously before the other noticed his stare and hurried them both along. Their footsteps echoed off the dark hard wood flooring, fading down the corridor until she was alone in the quiet.

On a small, engraved sign hanging next to the front desk was a directory. Rosalyn read through it quickly- she needed to make her inspection quick before someone happened by her. John had mentioned offhandedly in one of their previous conversations that Elmond House couldn't afford to keep a full staff over the weekends and she couldn't have timed her impromptu visit any better apparently.

Figuring it was better to avoid the top floor, where there was more of a chance of running into another adult, Wells turned down a corridor heading towards the west wing. If the small map was correct, both wings connected in a 'U' shape which would allow her an easy escape if she needed it.

The further she got down the hall, the quality of the building deteriorated before her eyes. The paint was cracking in many places and the wood felt rougher, more worn beneath her feet. She could hear people speaking in the distance and was about to turn around, feeling sillier with every step when a thick, black scuff mark on the floor caught her eye. Joining it were several smaller marks on the walls a few feet away. Rosalyn looked back where she could see the foot of the lobby staircase in the distance before continuing to trace the patterns with her eyes, the trail leading a little further down the corridor until they stopped before a large, steel door.

Her heart began to pound, a strange feeling of familiarity coming over her. The doctor had never set foot inside the building before then but she knew where she had seen this before. With a trembling hand she removed Stiles' drawing and unfolded it gently, smoothing the creases with her thumb.

It was the same door, of that there was no doubt in her mind. A heavy steel band served as the latch, held in place by a rusted padlock. The door had been painted a bright blue at some point in the past but now it was cracked and broken like the rest of its surrounding walls. Rosalyn's eyes flickered back and forth between the door and its drawn counterpart, noticing how the white patches Stiles had left unshaded matched up perfectly to the spots where the paint had flaked off completely. Down the left side, again replicated almost exactly on paper, was a long, crooked scratch in the surface.

She ran as fast as she could, her footsteps ringing out loudly in the building, not caring if anyone heard her and ignoring the pain that began to burn in her joints. Wells burst through the front doors, a million scattered thoughts going through her mind. As she reached the front gates, she flung them open, rushing towards the parking lot with the singular purpose of escape. The security guard from before looked on, confused and dialing the numbers on his phone but she paid him no heed.

Once she was in her car, Rosalyn drove some distance away before pulling over to the side of the road, rooting through her purse. The drawing of the door fell out onto the passenger seat, half unfolding itself and she stared it for a second, the image haunting her as she searched for the Stilinskis' number in a small address book. One hand punching in the numbers on her cell phone, she still fought to catch her breath from her sprint from Elmond House.

"Hello?" John Stilinski's voice answered.

"Hello, John? This is Rosalyn Wells."

"Doctor Wells? Are you okay? You sound like you just ran a marathon."

She almost laughed, trying to rein in the hysteria she was feeling. "Yes, well, you could say that. Is Stiles there with you?"

"He's up in his room, why? What's going on?" Worry and confusion began to seep from the phone.

"I'll have to explain later, it's very important I speak to him immediately. Please trust me."

"Alright," John replied slowly. "Just one sec."

The phone went quiet save the quiet thumps of the sheriff climbing the stairs. Rosalyn could hear a knock in the background before the man spoke again, quieter and not to her directly.

"Stiles? You awake, buddy? Doctor Wells is on the phone. She wants to talk to you for a sec, okay?" His voice regained its previous volume as he addressed her. "He had a rough night- couldn't stay asleep for more than an hour or two. This isn't going to stress him out, is it?"

Rosalyn sighed, her free hand gripping the edge of the steering wheel. "I hope not, John. I really don't."

"Okay, I'm putting him on."

There was a bit of static as the phone switched hands.

"Stiles, are you there?"

There was no reply but the quiet sounds of breathing told her she had an audience.

"Your dad showed me the drawing you made."

No response. Rosalyn squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry when her patient could hear her.

"I ...went there today, Stiles. You know where I mean?" She didn't wait for any reaction, the words spilling out of her. "I saw that door, honey. I saw it. You need to tell me what happened-" A loud clacking sound rang out painfully in her ear. "Stiles? Stiles are you there?"

"He dropped the phone." The sheriff's stony voice replaced his son's silence. "He's white as a ghost- what did you say to him?"

Rosalyn let her head fall back on the seat, all her previous adrenaline vanishing in a rush as she wearily listened to the man on her phone repeating his demands. "John, I'm so sorry to do this but I have to go."

"What?!"

"I have to go ...make some calls. I know this is a gigantic leap of faith on your part, but please trust me. I only have Stiles' best interests at part, I promise you. He has an appointment in ...three days, I think? Can you make sure he comes in? Please." She bit her lip, praying for strength and the indulgence of the incredulous man for just a little while longer.

"I- you- I'll try," he conceded. "I'm not promising anything. Just," Wells almost broke at the quiet plea. "Can't you tell me what this is all about?"

"Soon, John. As soon as I can."

**************************************************

The sheriff was too close to involve on a mere suspicion, of that Rosalyn was sure of. He was the parent, and the position he held made things even more awkward. If what she suspected had actually transpired, and on the level she was afraid of, then she knew Carson was slippery enough to get away with it all if they weren't careful.

She had driven home the other day and was ashamed to remember how fast her trembling hands reached for the small knob to the cabinet that housed her wines. She had poured a generous glass with shaking hands and mulled over the position she had found herself in. The doctor had called one of her nephews who was on the police force and asked for his opinion, off the record. He knew the place and told her that they had been called numerous times to go out there but nothing ever came of it. With a promise to look at some old logs of their visits, the dead end had been a frustrating start to her day.

"Doctor Wells?" The secretary's tiny voice came from the intercom. "Your eleven o'clock is here, Stilinski?"

Rosalyn looked at the clock, uneasiness churning in her stomach. Stiles wasn't due for another two hours or so. "Send him in, please. Can you ask Mr. Stilinski to come in here as well please, Debby?"

There was a moment of silence before a reply came through. "There's no one else here, Rosalyn."

The doctor waited for what seemed like an eternal moment for her office door to open with a slow lurch to reveal her young patient, pale and bags under darkened eyes. He made no eye contact with her and mechanically moved to his usual spot. In his lap was the blue journal. For a moment his eyes flickered to his drawing of the door- Rosalyn had stuck it to the cork board behind her desk.

"Stiles, honey, where's your Dad?" Rosalyn didn't expect a reply at this point but after a beat she got one, barely audible even in the quiet office.

"Asleep."

"He's still at home?" Rosalyn came to his side, crouching next to the armchair despite the protests of her back. "How did you get here?"

"I walked."

Rosalyn's brow raised in surprise. "That's a long walk, honey."

Stiles gave a small shrug and continued to stare down at the floor though she doubted if he actually saw anything most of the time- it was like he was always lost in his own head.

Wells motioned gently to the book on his lap. "Did you bring something for me to read today?"

The boy began to tremble, hands clenching white around the edges as if afraid she was going to snatch it away from him.

"It's okay, I won't look if you don't want me to."

He shook his head, just the barest hint of movement but it was there. "I'm scared."

A corner of her lip curled up in puzzlement. "What are you scared of, honey?"

Stiles said nothing but his eyes flickered again to the penciled door.

"Alright, let's just relax for a little while. Would you like a cup of tea?" Her patient made no reply but Rosalyn moved to begin the process anyway, needing something to distract herself from the already strange conversation. She knew she had to call the sheriff but decided there was no harm in delaying that communication a little while longer. Wells watched the tea bags steep, the clear water slowing turning to an amber hue. She took a quiet breath before picking up a cup for each of them and turned around to find that the journal now sat in the middle of the table. Her patient stared at it as if unsure of how it escaped his tenuous grip. Rosalyn set the tea down carefully, taking her seat opposite Stiles. She sipped the hot liquid for a moment, making no move towards the attempted offering.

"I'm going to take a look, is that okay?"

Stiles didn't reply but his breath hitched and quickened, his hands pale spiders that writhed in his lap in a nervous motion.

Rosalyn set down her tea with a quiet clink and slowly reached for the journal, the sluggish movement meant to give her patient the chance to change his mind even as she hoped he didn't. As her hand made contact, she gently lifted it and watched Stiles' eyes track the movement across the expanse of the table. "I'll just take a quick look and then we can talk about something else, how about that? You just relax and drink your tea, honey."

The boy made no move towards the steaming cup but instead watched his doctor with haunted, unblinking eyes.

Rosalyn tried to smile but felt a profound sense of dread come over her that she couldn't shake. She turned the first few pages that were filled with the few old entries she had coaxed out of the boy, making it to the slightly empty space where the door and its previous incarnations had been torn out. The doctor's heart skipped a beat as her eyes were bombarded with an entire page filled with erratic writing. Through the thin, slightly translucent paper she could see more words peeking through and flipped the page to see that Stiles had filled both sides. Rosalyn grabbed the side with a shaking hand and flipped rapidly through the rest, revealing grey words filling page after page after page. Stiles had filled up the entire remainder of the journal. Suddenly the bags under his eyes had much better context behind their exhausted appearance.

"Stiles, honey, what is this?" She questioned though a part of her felt like she already had a good idea of the things contained within. Wells looked up to see her patient biting his lips, struggling to hold in sobs even as a stray tear escaped, trickling down the side of his cheek.

Rosalyn murmured a comforting word before she looked back at the first page and began to read with wary eyes.

**he put me in the basement when i broke the rules. at first i did it on purpose. i wanted him to know he couldn't break me. when i was in the box he always left me alone for a while. it was the only time he wasn't watching me. then he started to come to the box. he told me no one wanted me, that everyone left me. at first i didn't believe it. but he told me danny left. that my dad didn't want me anymore. it started to feel true. he knew that i believed it. when i was asleep he came down to wake me up. he told me that if i did what he wanted he'd let me go home. i thought i could do it if it meant i could go home. but after he would read me the things he wrote, that i was bad, i was a danger to everyone, i was sick and needed help, help he could give me. he laughed. and i knew i was never going to leave.**

Wells poured through the volume of words, every short sentence drawing her in like a whirlpool. Her stomach felt like it was in her throat as Stiles went on to describe a sickening, horrifying account. The physical, emotional, sexual abuse in the recollection staggered her. After a few pages it was clear it continued in the same fashion, an almost systematic archive of every occurrence between Stiles and Doctor Carson, but Rosalyn couldn't stop herself from reading.

**he started giving the other boys rewards for hurting me. they tripped me in the halls, locked me outside. the adults knew. they stopped them if they saw but it was always worse later when i was alone. i asked for help from the teachers and the kitchen workers. they always told him and he called me to his office. he stopped calling after the third time and sent me to the box instead. the box was worse. no one could hear us down there.**

Rosalyn read for a hour. The beginning parts were hesitantly written in short bursts and mercifully vague detail, but eventually minced no words as though once he began, the words poured out of him like an open wound. Now it was clear to her why her patient had refused any male professional his father had contacted- the boy was terrified of male authority and for good reason. The things he described were ...brutal, the sheer torture he had suffered at Elmond House made her feel a dull amazement that he was even as functional as he was. The courage it must have taken to open the floodgates, to surely relive his experiences again as he wrote them down, floored her. Wells felt like her heart was about to burst with pain, disbelief, wonder at the boy in front of her.

The doctor knew it wasn't professional and all her training screamed otherwise, but she moved around the table to embrace Stiles in a tight hug. She held him and they cried together, squeezing tightly as if she could hug the trauma out of her patient. "Oh Stiles, oh honey, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, sorry." She wiped the tears from her eyes, trying to calm down as she managed to waddle them both towards her desk- Stiles wouldn't let her go and she didn't have the heart to try and detach him just yet. She picked up the phone, trying to calm her trembling fingers as she dialed the number of her department head, sucking in a deep breath when he answered.

"Richard? It's Rosalyn."

"Rosie! How are you?"

She wanted to laugh but dryly thought how crazy she was about to sound, not needing to give any impression of instability at the moment. "I'm ...not good, Richard. I have a big problem here and I'm going to need all the guns we can get."

The man didn't hesitate and she was thankful for the cool calmness that took over his voice. "What's going on?"

She sighed, stroking Stiles' head with great compassion. "I have something you need to read as soon as possible. Can you make it over here today?"

"I'm leaving right now."

"Thank you, Richard. Please hurry." The phone's call waiting beeped and Rosalyn recognized the Stilinskis' number, switching over the line as fast as she could. "John?"

"Doctor Wells? Listen, Stiles is gone, I can't find him anywhere, did-"

"He's here with me, John." She could almost feel the man's relief over the phone and hated herself for destroying it so quickly. "You need to get over here, now."

The sheriff instantly knew something was wrong by the heavy tone. "What's wrong, is he okay?"

Wells looked down at Stiles, hesitating at her reply. She doubted he'd be okay for a long time. "He's ...he's fine. John, are you good friends with the Chief of Police by any chance?"

"Sorry, the Chief?" The sheriff answered, confused at the doctor bringing up his boss. "We get on pretty good, I guess. Why?"

"Can you contact him and get him to meet you here?"

"I- yes, I can try. What's this about?"

Rosalyn felt terrible for confusing the man so. "I ...we have a crime to report and I feel we need someone with an open mind." The doctor knew that was the understatement of the year. "How soon can you be here?"

"I'm on my way out the door," John replied, the sounds of a car starting up over the phone. "I'll be there as fast as I can."

As she hung up the phone, Rosalyn leaned against the desk wearily. It was going to be a long day for everyone, but if that bastard Carson got the justice he deserved it would be worth it. She was only sorry it had come almost a year too late. For the first time in her professional life, Rosalyn Wells questioned how multiple systems designed for the very welfare of children like Stiles had managed to fail them so utterly.

**************************************************

"I can't do this." Stiles mumbled, wringing his hands where he sat on a bench in the quiet hall outside the courtroom. Rosalyn and John flanked him, each of them sporting tired but hopeful expressions.

The trial had been organized rather swiftly, the allegations that Stiles' written account had brought to light igniting a media firestorm. A thorough investigation of Elmond House found little hard evidence but through spoken testimonies they were hoping to establish that the abuse had indeed taken place. The previous witness was one of the security personnel who worked at the home. He had brought them a great leap forward after admitting that the door to the basements was always locked, only able to be accessed by the security staff and Doctor Carson who had the only master key. This called into question how Stiles was able to describe the basement in such stark, excruciating detail. It was a small victory for sure though both adults had grit their teeth at the easy shrug Carson had given the prosecutor when posed the question. 'Perhaps he had stolen a key or picked the lock. We do house a number of juvenile delinquents, you know. It's not unusual for them to steal and break into places they shouldn't be.'

"You can. You'll be fine." John patted his son's shoulder, missing the times he could show affection towards his child without an accompanying flinch of discomfort. "I'll be right there in the front row, Doctor Wells will be there too."

Rosalyn smiled and adjusted Stiles' tie for him. "I know this is hard. But after your testimony, you never have to see ...him, again. He's going to jail, Stiles. He'll never be able to hurt you again. And do you know what else?"

Stiles shook his head, face still full of worry.

"He'll never be able to hurt anyone else either. And that's thanks to you. You were brave enough to tell your story and everyone will see that man for the monster he is."

"Too bad I didn't see it sooner," John muttered bitterly. "I'll never forgive myself for this, Stiles."

Rosalyn shot the man a warning look though her tone was gentle and easy. "Not now, John. There'll be time for that later." The day they had met at her office there was a day's worth of apologies and tears. She knew they would never be enough, though unending for a long time. At the moment though they had to show strength, solidarity. There was no room for anything else if Stiles was to get through the trial intact.

"He'll be there, watching." Stiles whispered, looking down in shame at his fear, feeling his sweat soaking through the white shirt he wore under his jacket.

"John?" An officer approached, leaning out of the heavy courtroom doors. "They're ready for him now."

At his son's whimper, John hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear in a voice thick with emotion. "You can do this, I know you can. I'm so proud of you, Stiles. I'm so proud. And your Mom is too- I know she's up there watching us right now. Do you remember that dress she used to wear to important stuff, the one with the sunflowers?"

Stiles nodded, trying to rein in his shaking breath.

"Just imagine she's sitting next to me in her favorite dress cheering you on."

Rosalyn looked away, feeling like she was intruding on an extremely personal moment. She sent up a prayer to God in her mind- justice for Stiles, strength for John Stilinski, and peace for them all afterwards, no matter the outcome.

**************************************************

The rest of the trial was a disaster. Rosalyn knew with a sinking feeling that as soon as Stiles climbed shakily into the stand and was sworn in that it wasn't going to be good. At first she thought she was being pessimistic- Stiles answered the prosecutor's gentle line of questioning well enough with minimal difficulty. He looked constantly over at herself, his father, and the empty space next to him as to assure himself of their continued presence.

When the defense took over, that was when it all went downhill from there. The woman spit question after question at him, rapid and cold like a torrent of sleet. The prosecution evidently agreed with Rosalyn's thoughts, calling for an immediate cease of of the grilling and accusing the defense of attempting to trip Stiles up. Unfortunately it had already lead him to make several mistakes out of sheer nervousness before the judge intervened. The damage was done with every passing second of Stiles red-faced and sweating on the stand under numerous watchful eyes. The jury looked on, faces blank and unexpressive.

"Sick fucking bastard," John muttered under his breath, his hands curled into tight fists.

Rosalyn gave his hand a squeeze and looked over to see what was agitating him. Carson sat, cool as a cucumber, smiling faintly at Stiles the entire time as if he were slightly amused at a small child's antics. "Have faith, John. It's not over yet." She spoke quietly, trying to will the jury to identify the monster in their midst.

Eventually the tortuous ordeal turned onto the last curve of the winding road that was the trial. The jury panel had left the room to decide on a verdict after the closing arguments of both sides. Stiles sat, vibrating with continual waves of anxiety as his father and therapist whispered words of encouragement as they waited impatiently.

"No matter how this goes," John began in a quiet yet committed voice. "This will never happen to you again, I promise. Never, never again."

Stiles nodded absently, rocking back and forth in his seat.

Rosalyn made the mistake of looking back to Carson where he gave her a little wave, her blood boiling again though she met his eyes with a coldness she couldn't remember ever feeling towards another human being in her whole life.

Twenty minutes later the jury filed back in, startlingly quick. Wells knew this was either a very good sign or a very bad one. Apparently the verdict wasn't too difficult for them to decide upon. She studied each face for some clue but found little to tip her in either direction. Most of the entire room stood- Rosalyn, John, and Stiles held hands. John's friends from the police force gravely looked on from one of the rows further back. Richard Eckhart, Rosalyn's boss, was there was well, shooting his colleague a sympathetic smile. Carson remained sitting, his legs crossed and looking thoroughly bored by the affair.

"The jury has come to a verdict?" The judge's voice echoed through the room.

"Yes, Your Honor." The marshal who stood to the side replied.

The man in the front left of the panel remained standing while his fellows took their seats. He cleared his throat, the tension in the room getting to unbearable levels as he unfolded the verdict, written on a piece of slightly crumpled paper.

The marshal stepped forward to receive it, passing it off to the Judge for inspection before delivering it to the clerk who read the words out loud for all to hear.

"We, the jury, find the defendant, Alan Carson, not guilty in Count One of the indictment-"

Rosalyn closed her eyes, a crushing weight falling over her, knowing the words were stabbing the boy next to her as sure as if they were knives.

"-not guilty in Count Two of the indictment, and not guilty in Count Three of the indictment. Signed by Nicholas Cratzke, Foreman, and eleven other jurors."

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen," the judge's booming voice rose out with a loud smack of his gavel. "Now, if-"

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?" John stood up violently, screaming as his knuckles went white on the wooden railing.

"Mr. Stilinski, control yourself!" The judge yelled back even as an uneasy murmur ran through the crowd, rising quickly to everyone talking loudly at once in anger. "This trial has concluded and you are all excused. Now good day!" The man left the courtroom, his robes whipping angrily in a flourish around him.

Stiles sat in numb silence, oblivious to the chaos erupting around him.

Rosalyn opened her eyes to see Carson leave the courtroom, a smile on his face as a free man. The sight would haunt her for the rest of her life.

**************************************************

In the years that followed, his continued therapy with Doctor Wells would prove beneficial to overcoming the major hurdles he faced in terms of his depression and anxiety. Both he and his father would form a close bond with the therapist though the relationship between father and son would become strained as time passed. When Stiles turned eighteen, the sessions with Rosalyn Wells would come to an end. They kept in contact for a while until Wells retired, finding the job too tiring after the ordeal they had went through together- fighting a deeply flawed legal system, their attempts to reopen the trial for further re-evaluation proved fruitless. The doctor had moved out of state to be closer to her family and although Stiles still received lengthy letters inside Christmas cards each year, he couldn't bring himself to write back- feeling like his burdens were still taking over part of the doctor's life.

After that, he had found a new therapeutic process in wires and machines, in code and digital engineering. Whenever he saw his tormentor in his mind, hounding his sleep in the darkness of his bedroom, he crept to the desk his father had bought him and turned on his computer. The whirring of the device coming to life soothed him, the feel of the keys responding to his touch, to his absolute control gave him a serenity like nothing else did. His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing line after line, reading through code until he deleted it all in one press of a button only to retype it again, but better. Through the late nights, the cycles continued until he could stand to leave his room and rejoin the outside world in a dreamy haze- the pain in his soul would throb into being, each stroke of a key dulling it until his mind was slowly rebuilt, a little better than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh made myself a little sad with this one. Next chapter onwards will be back in the current day, hope the time jump back didn't make things awkward. Comments are love. xo


	4. Overneath The Path Of Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Rape of Persephone  
> was choreographed  
> by all the wrong Greeks
> 
> (i never thought you'd see)

"There are still no leads on yesterday's explosive break in at Two Moons Boutique in Downtown Beacon City. The building suffered massive internal damages as a result of what police have discovered to be a home made explosive device. This has lead investigators to currently consider alternative motives to the crime after it was reported that nothing appears to have been stolen- although several items are still unaccounted for in the wreckage. The owner had been away on holiday and-

"Dude," Scott mumbled, mouth full of the instant noodles he had made them both for a quick lunch since they both worked roughly the same late-afternoon shift. "Don't you work right next to that place?"

Stiles waved his hand for silence among the slurping sounds his roommate was producing, trying to listen intently to the reporter speaking almost cheerfully on the television.

"-alarm systems were functional and armed at the time of the explosion according to a DTI security representative we spoke to earlier. In addition to the investigation of the robbery, the owner is also considering filing charges afterwards against DTI for 'faulty systems and breach of contract'. This weekend expect a dip in the temperature as we-"

"Yeah," Stiles answered his roommate's previous question as he picked slowly at the food in front him. Scott could have been able to eat several full course meals in the time it took him to finish the small serving fit for a child. "I saw it while it was happening, actually."

Scott nodded sagely as if great information had been passed onto him with the simple statement. "Intense." He noticed Stiles' thoughtful if not puzzled expression and the puppy eyes came out in a split second. "Hey, are they okay? I didn't leave them in too long right? Man, I swear it only happens when you're here."

"What?" Stiles blinked, taking a second to realize Scott was talking about the food. "No, it's ...fine. I'm just thinking about the jewelry store thing. It's weird."

Scott shrugged, happy his cooking skills were up to par or at least edible. "Not every day a building explodes in front of you."

"No- well yeah- but no." The hacker tripped over his words in his haste to be understood. "I mean like, why would you break in if you're not going to steal anything? It doesn't make sense."

"Not really, I guess." Scott said slowly as he lost interest in the subject, a silly grin lighting up his face as their newest occupant jumped up on the couch with them. "Hey there, Mister Mittens," he cooed at possibly the ugliest cat Stiles had ever seen in his life (and thanks to Scott that number is probably in the triple digits by now). "Such a handsome prince, yes you are! Prince of Couch Castle!"

Stiles just shook his head. "You're ridiculous." Pretty sure that's not even a cat- looks more like a sewer rat. He took the opportunity to escape to the kitchen where he could dump the rest of his over-cooked noodles in the trash bin while Scott was preoccupied. He caught himself looking at the clock again, dreading the rest of the day. He had come to painful decision that today would be be his last day at Kleiner Danson. It was getting too risky to keep prolonging the job- he didn't want to make either of his employers suspicious, especially after Finstock's blow up (no pun intended) the other day. He couldn't be sure where he'd be working next, but it was slim it would have all the comfortable benefits he had sadly found himself getting used to.

"Hey, I'm gonna be late tonight, man." Scott's voice followed him from where he was still seated in the living room. He felt a pang of appreciation for his roommate's thoughtful consideration- Scott knew now not to approach him from behind. "Got a date tonight after work!"

Stiles held back a sigh, wanting to be happy for Scott but not quite making it. He didn't have any high hopes for his own love life with all his hang-ups, so it was always a bit of a thorn under his skin that Scott garnered so much romantic attention. Hard to get to know people when you're terrified of them. Not exactly boyfriend material. Still, he forced the feeling back as much as possible as he teased his roommate in a deadpan tone. "You need to get me Allison's address, I still haven't sent her a sympathy card."

"Ha, ha, too funny." Scott pouted, still stroking his ugly cat as Stiles returned to the living room. "You should know it already anyway."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Why is that exactly?"

"It's the Mayor's house. Aren't you going with your dad to that charity thing?"

"First of all, I'm not going. Second, when have you been talking to ...my dad? Third, the 'Allison' you've been dating is Allison Argent? Like, of the Mayor Argent clan?" Stiles crossed his arms, an incredulous look on his face. "How did you manage that one?"

Scott gave him a goofy grin, pleased at the reaction. "Pays to work at an animal hospital, man. She came in the other night after Mr. Mittens here ran out in front of her car, thought she hit him but it turned out she didn't."

"That's too bad," Stiles muttered, staring at the creature in question with distaste.

His roommate chose to ignore the comment, scratching the cat behind the ears as it purred. "He was fine, just froze up cause he was so scared, weren't you?" Scott's voice regressed into something resembling baby talk the further along the sentence he got.

"So you hit it off after ...Mittens almost got turned into a stain on the pavement? That'll be a story to tell the kids."

"Mister Mittens," Scott corrected, the cat meowing along as if in agreement. "And your dad calls here sometimes, man. You should actually, you know, talk to him."

Stiles rolled his eyes as he left to gather his things so he didn't have to pretend to consider the suggestion. "Whatever, see you later. Use protection."

**************************************************

As he pushed through the glass doors with a heavy feeling in his chest, Stiles could see Lydia across the lobby. Her hair bobbed around her madly as she moved like a demon from person to person, probably working several jobs at once in the afternoon rush. The only bad thing about not working the hideously early morning shift was that the afternoons were busy at Kleiner Danson and that meant lots of people. He moved as quickly as he could towards the back where he could escape to the relative sanctuary of his usual computer. He noticed the grumpy security guard he had gotten used to dealing with had been replaced with a silent man who scanned the identification offered by his trembling hand with no comment, only a nod. He hurried through the door.

"Hey, Lydia."

The assistant spared him a glance for a quick moment, muttering as she rushed off to another teller that required her help for some particular transaction. "Welcome to Hell, Stilinski."

He gave a grim little smirk, finding his way back to his mercifully empty desk. This isn't Hell, not even close. Hell is a concrete room where- stop, stop, stop. Not a good way to start the day, idiot. He berated himself as he let himself fall into the computer chair, feeling a familiar stirring at the purr of the machine starting up.

Thankfully nobody really bothered him in the small pocket of space he occupied. Every now and then throughout the morning a pushy customer would try to get his attention from behind the counter. Luckily he was consistently saved by Lydia's superhuman ability to be aware of everything at once in a fifty foot radius around her. Stiles had promised himself to finish the job that day, but he saw no reason not to drag it out a little more within that time frame. He clicked open his email, frowning at a message from another temporary email account:

**FR: ixr8k8m+aoe2k@guerrillamail.com**

**TO: me**

**SUBJECT: good work**

**i have some other work i'd like you to assist with.**

Stiles chewed his lip in irritation, feeling he could reasonably assume this was the same person who had already been in contact with him. I'm not a trained monkey that's gonna do tricks for you, buddy- there's other things I want to accomplish today while I still have some freedom. He sent back a brief reply sprinkled with sarcasm he hoped translated over the internet and sent a clear message:

**FR: me**

**TO: ixr8k8m+aoe2k@guerrillamail.com**

**SUBJECT: re: good work**

**You're very welcome. Now fuck off, I don't work for free.**

He wished he could feel as confident as he did with everyday situations like he felt in front of a computer screen. It was the only way through which he could feel enough control to let out a little of the fire he knew was part of his true personality, only buried in layers of shit. Seconds later he received a reply, swearing to himself he wouldn't continue the conversation no matter what it said:

**FR: ixr8k8m+aoe2k@guerrillamail.com**

**TO: me**

**SUBJECT: re: re: good work**

**i don't expect you to. i'll see you soon.**

Stiles blinked at the screen. That ...makes no sense. He wasn't sure how to interpret the vague yet ominous message. Were they going to try and elicit his services in person, face to face? Offer him a price for his services? His guts churned at the thought of a stranger seeking him out for the sole purpose of communication. He tried to calm the disquiet the last message was creating in him, closing distractions and hoping to immerse himself in the limited work he had left.

"Stiles."

He nearly jumped out the chair, heartbeat spiking as he expected some faceless figure coming to him from the unknowable internet. Jesus, Lydia.

"Sorry," the assistant apologized, not sounding sincere in the slightest with her no-nonsense briskness. "Finstock wants to know how much longer before you're done."

"Uh," he stammered, trying to recover from the scare, eyeing the closed door to Finstock's office across the lobby. "Well, it's technically done now but I'd like to tweak it a bit before I go- just to make sure there's no more glitches because, you know, uh-"

"I'll tell him you need a couple more hours." Lydia cut him off, her lips in a thin line.

He swallowed in relief. "Great, thanks. I'll-"

"If you go on a coffee run for me."

Stiles groaned, fretting already at having to brave the throngs of people. Should've known there'd be a catch, that was way too nice of her.

"It's a fair deal, Stilinski. You get more computer time and the customers are safe for me to try to explain how a basic consolidation loan works, repeatedly, without murdering them." Lydia gave him a brilliant, yet terrifying smile as she tapped her heel against the floor. "What do you say?"

"Alright, alright, I'm going." He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, resigned to his fate.

"Excellent. Starbucks is around the corner on 31st. Triple-half sweet-soy-175 degree-one quarter water-three quarters milk-no foam-chai latte. Off you go." Lydia thrust what appeared to be the exact change needed at him and shooed him away, turning to narrow her eyes at the clock with pursed, red lips.

**************************************************

Ugh, why didn't I get her to write all that down? Never, never, again.

Stiles hurried back to the bank, hoping fervently that whatever was in the cup he held protectively to his chest was what Lydia wanted. He wasn't sure he'd survive the ordeal otherwise but after the humiliating experience of trying to recreate the order, he was thinking that might not be so bad. Stiles could feel himself flushing, the embarassment still fresh and hot in his skin as when he had repeated the garbled specifics to the unimpressed barista.

As he turned the corner, Stiles had to pass through a particularly dense crowd and held his breath, concentrating on not dropping Lydia's order. The faster you do this, the faster it's over. With that thought in mind, he twisted and weaved through as best he could. He could see the other side and pressed on when someone touched him. He was in the middle of the crowd and it would be easy to dismiss it as a casual, accidental thing but he felt fingers give the briefest caress to the back of his elbow. He almost let go of the cup right then and there as he whirled around, eyes searching for the intruder of his personal space but no one stood out to him in the masses. Trembling, trying to steady himself, he continued to move forward to climb the front steps of Kleiner Danson.

Once Stiles reached the glass doors, he turned one last time to survey the crowd, still uneasy and feeling on edge. The touch had lasted only a moment but it had all the tenderness of a lover and the curious feeling disturbed him. As he made his way back inside, the lines of customers had eased up a little and Lydia seemed to be in slightly better spirits. He gave her a little wave and she seemed pleased to see him- or at least the beverage he carried. Eh, Lydia's in a good mood and therefor everyone else is in a good mood. Still a win. A second passed before it started to rain.

Several people cried out as the sprinklers went off, showering everyone with chillingly cold water. Stiles startled as the water hit him, dropping the cup of coffee on the tiled floor. He watched dumbly as people ran for the entrance, fire alarms starting to ring shrill and shrieking in his ears. At his feet, he stared as the spreading brown puddle began to gradually dissipate under the torrent of water. What ...?

Finstock emerged from his office, his suit dark and already soaked through. He immediately honed in on Stiles who was standing like a stone in the middle of a river, the only person not moving in the lobby. The manager made an angry gesture for him to approach, stomping over to where Lydia was speaking in a clearly livid manner at a security guard. Stiles wiped the water from his eyes uselessly and made his way over to meet the small group awaiting him.

"STILINSKI. WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY BANK?" Finstock exploded, trade mark wild eyes rolling around in their sockets. His assistant stood nearby, her arms crossed and hair hanging limply around her glaring face.

Stiles quivered, trying to gather his thoughts under the steady downpour and the two angry people staring him down. "I- I didn't do anything! I wasn't even here!"

"Well," Finstock spit. "That's an interesting bedtime story- let me tell you a story. It goes like this: none of the fire alarms were pulled, so that leaves one other explanation doesn't it? A certain dumbass kid we hired that's been messing around in our systems."

Oh shit. "Sir, I didn't-"

"I DON'T CARE! FIX IT!" Finstock roared, Stiles flinching and hurrying to his computer. Droplets of water ran down the screen and he counted himself lucky most of the hardware in danger of frying was covered from the water. Typing as fast as he could, his fingers slipping off the keys, he brought up the building's emergency processes. Kleiner Danson had nearly everything connected to their computer systems- and that included the sprinkler systems and all alarms.

"What the hell ..." Stiles murmured, at once realizing what had happened. Most of the work he had been doing for the bank was a variety of security upgrades to do with wireless access and fail-safes in the event of any physical or digital attack. One thing he didn't worry about was the emergency functions, figuring the defenses (as paltry as they were) were good enough considering no one was going to be interested in them. Apparently someone's interested in ruining my life. Shit. Shit. Shit. The further in he got, Stiles could see where someone had indeed bothered to hack into the systems and activate the fire alarms and sprinklers. With a few relatively simple commands he managed to shut it all down for the moment.

"What. Happened." Lydia's clearly enunciated, too calm voice came over his shoulder. The sounds of the last drops falling from the sprinklers punctuated her words, too loud in his ears.

"I'm not sure," Stiles replied, trying to sound unworried. "I think someone was trying to attack the system." He looked over to see Finstock at the entrance, talking to the firefighters and police officers that had responded to the false alarm and gesturing wildly. "I'm screwed, aren't I?"

"You're screwed," Lydia agreed, going for nonchalance but failing to hide her severe irritation. "And you owe me- big time. Finstock wants you to stay late and figure this out. Yours truly," she spoke between grit teeth. "Has to stay and babysit you and the clean up crew."

Stiles swallowed. "Lydia, I'm sor-"

She held up a hand, her lovely features contorted as if the attempted apology physically pained her. "I'm going home to change into something dry. I'll be back before we close, try not to make things worse, Stilinski." With that she turned on her heel and strode away, creating tiny splashes with every forceful step.

Just great. Just fucking great.

**************************************************

Stiles looked up from the now copious defense he had created (around even the smallest processes, just to be safe), not realizing how late it had gotten. The sun had set and the front windows were black with the night, reflecting the innards of the bank back at him. His eyes were bleary from focusing on the lines of coding for the past few hours, trying to make certain his work would last and not give Finstock anymore ammunition against him. He stole a look over his shoulder where Lydia was reading last months Vogue magazine, lazily turning the pages with long nails. The cleaning crew had finished drying everything off a little while ago and they were the only two souls left in the building, which was back to its former near-pristine condition.

"All done here." He spoke casually though guilt still needled him. It was rare that he felt a sense of failure in regards to his work and the feeling now was like a betrayal of something that was supposed to be safe. When it came to computers, there were supposed to be no surprises for him.

"Good, let's get out here." Lydia closed the magazine tiredly with a sigh, rising to her feet. "I've seen enough of this place today for a lifetime. I need to grab some things, just wait at the front for me."

"Alright." Stiles grabbed his jacket and headed towards the doors, thinking about the second painfully strange day to happen to him in such a short space of time. What was the point of that? I mean, it pissed Finstock off, got me in shit, closed the bank a little early. Big deal. Ugh, it's done with now anyway, I guess.

"Ready to go?"

Stiles startled at the sudden noise. That's the second time today you've scared the shit out of me.

Lydia didn't notice as she dug around in her purse for her keys. "You can head outside, I need to arm the alarm before I lock up."

The boy shook his head as he flipped the lock and stepped out onto the steps. He looked out into the dark, enjoying the way the lights of the city shone in the night. The previously bustling sidewalks were empty and there were only a few cars passing by. It was the only time Stiles could enjoy the cityscape- devoid of its inhabitants.

Lydia quickly exited the bank, pulling the heavy steel gate over the doors and locking it several times at the bottom, the alarm beeping to life inside as it armed itself. "Well, I'm parked out back. Need a ride?"

Stiles looked at the ground, kicking a bottle cap away in an awkward motion. "Nah, it's okay. Thanks though."

The girl raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, car keys dangling from her fingers. "I know everyone wanted to lynch you today but it wasn't your fault."

Stiles looked up.

"I know it and Finstock knows it," Lydia continued in the same casual tone though her words sunk in with a certain weight behind them. "You don't need to punish yourself."

Yes, I do. He laughed as though the thought was amusing to him and completely wrong. The sound rang hollow between them. "I'm only a couple blocks away, not really much of a punishment." This wasn't exactly the truth- it was a bit further but he wanted time to think by himself since Scott wouldn't be home to worry about him anyway. It was late but it wasn't like he was in a bad part of town. Then again, Beacon City was like a kaleidoscope that way: the nicer districts were peppered with the odd sketchy block and vice versa. It was a melting pot of different walks of life, all kinds of financial backgrounds. Still, Stiles wasn't particularly worried. People usually left you alone if you minded your own business and he was very good at that.

Lydia didn't look convinced but shrugged without argument. She looked tired and Stiles felt another bite of guilt, knowing she had as long a day as he did. "If you're sure. Well, it's been a slice. Have a good night."

"Night." He replied, hands in his pockets as the strawberry blonde walked away towards the parking lot, her woolen coat almost glowing a brilliant green under the streetlights. He turned to leave in the opposite direction when she called out his name.

"Stiles!"

He turned to see she had stopped next to the building, illuminated like a spotlight was on her. "I'll make sure Finstock gives you some good feedback. Don't be a stranger." She gave him a quick smile, which he returned with a wave, unusually sincere for her before it disappeared with her out of his field of vision and around the corner. He heard the clicks of her heels (Does she own any other kind of shoe? What's she gonna do when the snow comes?) growing fainter as the distance between them grew. He was alone.

With that, the hacker began his walk home in the cold night, a gentle breeze sending a small shiver down his neck before he pulled his collar closer. His footsteps echoed in the quiet and after a block he started to sink into his thoughts, half tuning out the rest of the world. Wonder how Scott's date went. Or is going. The Mayor's daughter too, what the hell. Oh god I hope he didn't bring her back to our place. Can't deal with that after today. Why did I get a roommate that compulsively brings home animals and girls? A tiny, nasty voice in his head answered. Because no one else wants you. Scott just tolerates you for now, one day he'll look at you with those big brown eyes and you'll know he wants you to leave. You'll have to run back to Dad and all his disappointment- No, Scott wouldn't do that. I know he wouldn't. Focus, focus ... He took a deep breath, letting the chilled air fill his lungs and somewhat cooling the heat that was building inside him. Getting posted to a new place soon- if Finstock doesn't fuck me over, I can try to save some more money, maybe move out of state-

It took everything Stiles had to keep a steady rhythm once he heard the footsteps behind him. His legs felt stiff, like the bones inside had all melted and re-solidified back into one joint-less mass. The sound matched up with his own pace almost perfectly and he fought the urge to look back, telling himself he was being paranoid as he tried to ignore the sudden fear crawling up and down his insides. I'm not the only one who had a late night in the entire city, I'm being an idiot. He quickened his pace, turning a corner that led him further away from home but hoping to hear the footsteps come and go past the intersection.

They didn't. It doesn't mean anything. It's just coincidence.

No such things as coincidences, son. I ...know that now. His father's muddled voice from the past sounded in his thoughts. Not helpful right now, Dad. Stiles kept his frantic pace, sure he looked absolutely nuts, his limbs on the verge of flailing wildly with the force of his movements. His heart pounded in his ears, the red neon lights of the Chinese restaurant he passed bathed him in a bloody glow for a moment as he made the decision to slow down to a crawl and let the person pass him. They'll pass by and I'll have to walk back the extra block back because I can't keep my shit together. The footsteps became louder and louder until they were right behind him.

"Sssspaare sommeee chaaange, missssterr?"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Stiles muttered under his breath, heartbeat an erratic pace. Today's theme: Scare the Shit out of Stiles. The homeless (and drunk by the way he slurred his words) man in front of him held out a bandaged hand, beckoning him for a handout. "Sorry, I don't have anything on me."

The man backed off, shaking his head. His beard dirty and tangled like some human tumbleweed. He mumbled to himself, resuming whatever route he was on with no further words for Stiles as he disappeared into the dark.

Stiles let out a breath into the night air, watching the cloud of vapor escape his mouth and fading away. He squinted up at the red light above him, the bright neon in stark contrast against the closed, empty business it heralded. His detour had only added a short time to his walk- there was no reason he couldn't still beat Scott home. For the first time in ages he desperately wished he had a cigarette. The sudden desire made him snort softly. He hadn't had one since he was a teenager, before ...everything. Ignoring the nagging craving, he figured he should start to head back the way he came.

Two large hands dropped themselves on his shoulders, curiously gentle for a second before squeezing his bones in a crushing grasp as they pulled him back into the alley next to the restaurant-

-down the stairs, backwards, so he could see him at the top. The man smiled, the light behind him making it hard to look directly at him, like he was the sun itself. Or God. The hands of the orderly dug into his neck painfully but needlessly- he didn't fight them anymore. he knew-

-There was simply no time for him to react or even comprehend what was happening. Stiles was slammed into the wall of the building painfully, the impact knocking the wind out of him as he tried to breathe instinctively through the sensation. There was little light in the alley; he couldn't see his assailant. Even if that wasn't the case, the tsunami of panic would have blinded him just as surely. He was thrown to the ground, a boot finding his ribs viciously soon after, over and over again. He knew he was crying out in pain, tasting copper in his mouth, but he couldn't hear it. All he could hear was the heavy breathing of his attacker, sharp exhales of exertion in the shadows.

He managed to roll over, his tear-blurred vision struggling to make sense of what he was seeing. It was definitely a man, of that much Stiles was certain: a powerful frame loomed over him, broad shoulders and thick, muscled limbs. Instead of a human face, there was a wolf with shaded eyes and fangs frozen mid-snarl in a feral leer. The surreal image was all he could take in before a fist crunched into the side of his head, the tiny patterns in the asphault next to his face swimming in strange shapes before he thankfully blacked out.

**************************************************

Consciousness came in fleeting spurts, hazy bits of stimuli that his brain struggled to make sense of over the roaring pain in his head. He could barely open his left eye, already swelling shut in a bruised lump. His right was hardly better; it was like looking through the windows during a car wash, everything watery and unsure. He was being jostled gently and he realized someone was carrying him in their arms.

Stiles' mind railed against the thought but his battered body couldn't spare the response to the panic that wracked him. He breathed in, shallow and stilted, smelling a very distinct odor but he couldn't immediately place it. Only when he twisted his head, trying to get his neck into a more comfortable position, that his face brushed against dark leather and suddenly the smell made sense.

Where am I oh it hurts fuck it hurts mom, mom I don't wanna die I-

"You're safe now." A quiet, firm voice sounded at the weak struggling he had begun, as if answering his garbled thoughts. The confident assurance brooked no room for question, and it was strange but something about the simple statement rang true. It sounded familiar like he knew them (him?) from somewhere but he couldn't identify his apparent rescuer.

The cool air had vanished, replaced by a warmth that surrounded him. Stiles hadn't even noticed they had still been outside. He vibrated with fear, not knowing who had complete power over him in this position and having no idea where he was being taken. The arms that held him shifted and moved under him, a jingling sound reaching his ears and a short blast of air rushing into the side of his face as a door opened.

They passed through another swimming doorway and Stiles found himself bouncing softly as they went up a flight of stairs under flat, yellow lights. The motion made him slightly nauseous and caused dots of black to burst across his eyes like inverted fireworks.

Who are you?

It was suddenly dark. He was being set down gently on a soft surface, realizing numbly he had blacked out and missed a small piece of time. The arms that held him, not oppressively but tenderly as though he was made of cheap ceramic, slowly extracted themselves and he found himself oddly cold at the loss of touch.

Stiles struggled to open his one good eye, realizing he was back in his apartment and on the couch. His rescuer stood over him, unknown in the darkened living room, as the streetlight outside gave off little illumination but lent the black leather jacket he wore a golden shine. The man turned his back on him and walked silently to the front door.

"Please." Stiles croaked out in the quiet, not knowing himself what he was asking for.

The figure stopped for a second but soon the door closed and Stiles passed out with a tiny sigh that no one heard.

**************************************************

"Stiles? Stiles! Wake up, man, please wake up!"

He groaned at the sound, consciousness returning to him with a pounding headache and aching body. The jacket he had worn the day before was draped over him like a blanket and the blinds were open to reveal an afternoon sun that made his eyes burn upon opening. Ow. Fucking hell.

"What happened?" Scott shouted, quieting at the wince Stiles gave at the loudness. "What happened to you?" He repeated (inside voice, Scott), crouched next to the couch, eyes wide with worry at the state he had found his roommate in.

"Got ...mugged, I guess." Stiles answered slowly in a near whisper, mouth dry and unpleasantly still tasting of blood. "Water, please ...? What time is it?"

Scott shot to his feet, nodding eagerly. "Sure, sure," he ran to the kitchen, apologizing in a torrent of words that made Stiles' skull throb. "It's almost two, dude. I'm so, so sorry I wasn't here. Date night went kinda late and Allison wanted me to stay over, I thought I texted you to let you know though, maybe I didn't, I-"

"Scott." Stiles moaned.

"Yeah, buddy?" Scott set the glass of water on the coffee table, concerned and ready to take up whatever possible demands the battered boy could have.

"Oh my god, shut up."

"Sorry! Sorry."

They sat there in silence for a while, Stiles eventually sitting up with a cringe at the protest of his muscles and sipping at the cool water. He saw his wallet and phone were on the coffee table next to them and paused, the glass barely touching his swollen lip. Guess it wasn't technically a mugging. He stared off into the distance with the thought, surprisingly numb of mind despite the ache in his bones. Scott hovered on the other end of the couch, brow furrowed with concern as Stiles continued to ignore him. He was trying to sift through the sand of the strange disassociation that covered the shock of the previous night's attack.

"-just to be sure you don't have a concussion or something, you know? Stiles?"

He looked up, even the movement of his eyes in his sockets giving him a throbbing pain in his temples. "Huh?"

Scott shook his head, worry evident in the brown of his eyes and Stiles would've found it touching had he been feeling his usual self. "I said I think we should take you to the hospital. We wouldn't have to wait, I can probably get Mom to-"

"No, no hospitals." Stiles had met Melissa McCall once and knew the acorn hadn't plopped far from the tree when it came to her son. The Head of Surgery at Beacon General was an extremely warm woman, and also very sharp when she needed to be. And that's where the similarities end. Sorry, Scott. "I'm fine. Just need to rest ..." He laid himself back down with a heavy breath, a sudden bout of dizziness and fatigue overriding his need for personal space as his feet brushed Scott's legs.

"Dude, this is serious, you need to get checked out." Scott protested, twisting himself to give Stiles' legs more room to spread out comfortably.

Stiles shook his head vehemently in answer, teeth gritting at the noise as his roommate's worry was apparently directly connected to the volume of his voice.

"Stiles-"

"Oh my god, you do it then." Stiles' request surprised them both. He just wanted to sleep though and if it would make Scott leave him alone he'd suffer through it.

"What?"

"You heard me," he grit his teeth. "Between your mom and your job you know the basic stuff right?"

"Well, sort of but-" Scott paused with a begrudging sigh. "Okay. Okay, where did ...uh ...you get, you know?"

Stiles snorted. "My ass kicked? Sides, head, mostly those I think."

"Alright," Scott nodded as he moved a little closer, answering a tiny cringe from Stiles with one of his own. "Uh ...sorry. Can you open your eyes really wide and look at me?" He waited for Stiles to comply patiently, examining the pupils at the center of the bruised tissue. "Your pupils aren't dilated, that's a good sign. Do you remember everything that happened? Did you see who did this?"

"I think I do," the battered boy shook his head as the assault ran through his mind, fuzzy bits and pieces. "I couldn't see them though- they were wearing a mask."

"Like ...a ski mask?"

"Not exactly." Stiles quietly replied, goosebumps rising on his flesh as he remembered the nightmarish animal visage. A wolf ...it was a wolf.

"Alright," Scott sensed his roommate's willingness to speak of the subject was coming to its limit and reached out his hands, hesitating in his movement with a questioning, somewhat embarrassed look. "Uh, if you don't want to see a doctor we need to take a look ...under your shirt." He spoke the last words in a mumble that Stiles could barely hear, the tips of his ears flushing dark red.

Stiles sat up on the couch faster than he should have, his head spinning as the room lurched with the sudden movement. He knew he wasn't going to have an attack- everything was so muted and felt ten feet away from him, but the vulnerability he felt at the idea of his roommate's suggestion added a sharp edge to the fog he felt. "No," he shook his head wearily at Scott's opening mouth, already knowing the argument about to come forth. "I'll ...I'll look myself. In the bathroom. You can tell me what to look for through the door."

This answer seemed to satisfy Scott and he watched nervously as Stiles got unsteadily to his feet, almost toppling over within a few steps until he caught himself on the armchair.

"I'm okay," he muttered, more to himself than his concerned housemate. "I'm okay." Once he made it down the hall and shut the door behind him, a small measure of comfort and control sunk in. He gaped at himself in the mirror, knowing (or rather feeling) the damage there but still surprised at just how grisly he looked. I look like shit, no, worse than shit. Shit that's been stepped on a few times. One of his eyes was grossly swollen, the lid purple and puffed up to frame the broken blood vessels that marred the white sclera. His lip was split, a tiny red crack that still sported a matching stain around it after the blood had dried overnight on his face.

With shaking arms, Stiles pulled off his shirt to continue his self-examination. Greyish shapes that were vaguely in the shape of fingers splayed across his arms where he had been grabbed. The bruises were only visible on the skin that wasn't tattooed, peeking out among the skulls stylized to appear waxen and dripping down his arms. He turned, noting the worst of it was under his ribs where the heavy boots had slammed into the tender area. The skin was reddened and angry looking, already turning to a vivid mix of blue and yellow hues in the centers of the bruising clouds. One his elbows was scraped and by the feel of it so was his right shin as well, the scabbing wound pulling annoyingly at the inside of his jeans.

"You okay, dude?" Scott's muffled voice came through the door.

"Y-yeah," Stiles stammered, feeling a strange mix of fear and morbid wonder at the distantly familiar position of seeing how much his body could withstand. "I'm pretty bruised up."

"Hmm, are they dark purple, almost black?"

"Nope, not really." The hacker winced as his fingers brushed the areas, cautiously testing the levels of pain.

"No swelling? Like, bad swelling?"

"No."

"Okay, I think you're good for now. Well, not good, I mean-" Scott stammered, tripping over his words.

"I get it." Stiles sighed, redressing himself and trying to ignore the tremors in his arms, the throbbing ache blooming in the center of his back. "I get it." He whispered again to himself, his wounded reflection staring back at him, the swollen side of his face forcing a crooked expression onto his face. He realized he didn't mention the mysterious rescue part of the story to Scott who probably assumed he made it back by himself. Something about him felt ...so familiar. How did he find me? How did he know where I live? With troubling thoughts diving and resurfacing in his head, he limped back to the couch where he quickly fell asleep under Scott's nervous watch and quiet, well-meaning assurances.

**************************************************

Three days passed, seamless and exactly the same: Scott would insist on staying home to hang out with his roommate while he healed, only to reluctantly leave after Stiles got irritated enough to yell at him until he left. The hacker knew he meant well, but his constant hovering and questions ('There hasn't been blood in your pee, right? That's a sign of kidney damage.') quickly started to drive him insane. Then there were the gentle suggestions of a walk around the block to get some fresh air ('No. I'll open a fucking window if I want some air, okay?' He had snapped, feeling only a little bad at the kicked-puppy expression he was rewarded with).

When his housemate finally left, Stiles would look around the empty apartment and let himself simply feel, which was harder than he anticipated. Everything was still frozen in a sort of muted, tranquilizing fear. He didn't want to go outside, even in broad daylight with an escort. Maybe if Scott had a body like tall, dark and mysterious I'd feel better about it. The thought (which repeated itself occasionally) confused him even as it registered in his mind. He reasoned he hadn't had a lot of time, energy, or pleasant memory in a long time to attempt much of any remotely sexual fantasy. There were too many triggers, too many tender areas of his soul to brave the fear of an unknown repetition, even if it could be an experience for the better. And it's not like anyone's been interested in me and my shit ton of baggage anyway. Wow, that was depressing. Go me.

In truth he barely left the couch he had woken up on the morning after the attack. He would move from room to room, feeling as though he was searching for something just out of his grasp. His bed, still unmade and always so comforting a place in the past was now like a stranger in the middle of his room. He ignored it and returned to where he had been placed down with the utmost care. Eyes closed, he tried to recreate the feeling without remembering the pain that was still fresh and biting in the memory though he was only suffering soreness and a blackened eye at the time. The fatigue and easy pain faded away with the hours wasted and time spent sleeping, eating whatever Scott made for him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember arms around him, a guardian presence standing over him, protecting him. The desire terrified him and yet the strange contact the circumstances had thrust upon him seemed to awaken a ravenous hunger Stiles didn't know he had. At the same time, it was just another empty space inside him, one he didn't know what to fill up with.

"Hey!"

Stiles looked up, pulled out of his deep thought by Scott's greeting as he banged around, closing the door behind him. The sound of a few thumps against the floor told him that his housemate had been good enough to pick them up some groceries on his way home. I hope he remembered more pain killers, I'm almost out.

Scott gave him an easy smile as he threw his coat over the back of a chair. "How're you feeling, man?"

Stiles shrugged. "Good, I guess. Little sore still. How was your visit?" He hastily added, "And don't tell me about you guys making the two-backed beast, alright? I can live without that mental image scarring me for life."

Scott screwed up his mouth. "Huh?"

"I- never mind." 

"Anyway, it was good, really good." Scott's eyes took on the dreamy glaze that happened whenever he talked about Allison, his mouth curling into small, happy smile. "You should see their house, it's like a castle. Huge! Also, her dad is pretty scary. I don't think he likes me."

Stiles smirked, the amusement putting a tiny dent in the grey apathy of the last few days. "You're boning his precious little girl, he's not supposed to like you."

"Guess that's right," Scott laughed sheepishly. "Oh," he withdrew a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "This was taped to our door, know what it's about?"

Stiles eyed the paper warily, reading his own name written in an unfamiliar hand. "Who's it from?"

"I dunno, dude. It's got your name on it so I didn't open it."

He took it, studying the letters of his name for a moment longer before ripping off the tape that sealed it closed, revealing the short missive:

**They know we've been in contact with you and they're coming for you. If you stay where you are, I can't protect you. Come to the Mayor's ball tomorrow night so we can talk. I know you've been invited.**

Stiles read it three times, a dull dread intensifying as the threat the message promised would befall him sunk in deep. Oh my god that email last week- what the fuck did I get myself involved in? He paled as he considered that the attack wasn't merely bad luck or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They didn't want my wallet ...they wanted to send a message. Consider it well sent, you terrifying assholes, whoever you are.

"Who's coming for you?" Scott questioned, having leaned over and read the note along with Stiles who was too bewildered to be annoyed at the minor intrusion into his privacy. "And you're going to the thing tomorrow night?! Can you bring a guest? I uh ...wasn't invited. Mr. Argent must have missed me." Stiles wanted to laugh at how fast Scott changed gears, tone going from puzzlement to excitement to a sulking pout.

"I don't know," he answered slowly. "And I'm not going." The hacker crumpled the paper in his fist, letting it fall to the coffee table.

His roommate deflated, slouching down and looking crestfallen at the opportunity wasted. "Seriously, dude? It's going to be ...amazing. Allison told me some of the things her dad has at these things and I'd kill to be there. Come on, it'll be awesome!"

Stiles' lip curled up a little. "Ask the Chief to take you- you can even pretend to be me. He'll probably enjoy having you as a son for a night."

"Dude, no, that's so weird," Scott whined. "And you really need to cut your dad some slack."

"I'm not talking about this with you." Stiles' voice became wintery and brittle, an awkward pause happening between them before one of the living room windows exploded.

Both boys cried out in surprise- Scott almost falling off the couch and Stiles frozen like a deer in headlights, heart rate taking off like a rocket at the loud noise of shattering glass. They stared at the projectile that had landed in the near center of the room. A good-sized brick that Scott picked up after a beat of stunned silence, turning it over in his hands to reveal the words ' **YOU'RE DEAD** ' written on it in what looked like a black marker.

Scott looked at Stiles with wide eyes, hurrying over to the window to peer out at the alley below that ran next to the building. They were three flights up but it appeared that someone had the arm strength to lob the brick up that distance with fairly impressive aim.

"I think you're in trouble, man." Scott said softly in disbelief, back turned as he still eyed the empty alleyway.

"No shit." Stiles muttered, arms around himself as he looked at the glass fragments spread out over the floor in strange constellations. Fuck, fuck, what am I going to do now? I'm getting the shit beaten out of me on the street and bricks through the windows. Fuck, fuck-

"We should call your dad, see what he thinks."

"Not a fucking chance."

"Maybe you should go then? To the ball thing, I mean." Scott suggested, unfazed and probably expecting the snappish answer he got to his first idea. He had gotten a broom and had most the mess cleaned up while Stiles had been lost in a frenzied thought of panic. "I mean, your dad is gonna be there with you, and most of the police force too, right? No one's gonna mess with you in the middle of all that. Plus the Argents always have their own security people around . It can't hurt." Yes it can.

"Maybe." Stiles wasn't fully convinced of the merits of his housemate's suggestion but it was true things were escalating rather quickly and he still didn't understand what exactly was going on. As Scott hurried to tape a plastic bag over the giant hole in the window, the hacker considered the limited options.

On one hand, he could ignore the rather blunt warning and leave it to chance (possibly playing with his own life and even Scott's as well if how things were going were any indication) or he could see what the mystery writer wanted to talk about in possibly the safest setting he could imagine: surrounded by cops and private security. Maybe it's Tall & Mysterious. His heart gave a little jump with the thought, a squirmy feeling moving through his stomach. He squashed it down into a pulp. Fuck this, I haven't gotten this far to take this shit laying down. I refuse to get killed not understanding what got me in this shitty fucking position.

"Okay, fine." Stiles grabbed his phone and found the contact he was looking for, hitting the call button before he had the chance to change his mind.

"Stiles?" John Stilinski's surprised voice came out of the device a few rings later. Yeah I bet you're surprised- I can't even remember the last time I called you.

"Yeah, hey Joh- Dad." He grit his teeth, feeling self conscious as Scott looked on with an interested, hopeful expression.

"What's going on? Everything alright?" The Chief questioned, on the alert for any sense of catastrophe he could assist his son with.

"Yes, everything's fine," Stiles lied with a sigh. "That thing at the Mayor's tomorrow night, do you still want me to go? It's cool if you don't or whatever," he ignored Scott's sudden scowl. "Actually you know what, ne-"

"Of course I do, of course." John interrupted. "I thought you didn't want to though ...? What changed your mind?" Well, there was this brick with 'YOU'RE DEAD' written on it that just got biffed through my window. That sort of had something to do with it.

"It's a long story- what time is this thing at anyway?" Basically there was a choice between the 'Kill You Brick' and the ' Maybe Save Your Life Mystery Note', that's where we are right now, Dad.

"Not til eight but I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon, maybe we can grab some lunch before your tux fitting? It is a formal event." The Chief's voice was full to bursting with something akin to hope.

"Lunch? And a ...tux fitting?" Stiles questioned, staring daggers at Scott all the while. "Great." You're lucky you took care of me the morning after, because otherwise you would definitely not deserve this right now. "Hey, do you think I can bring a frie- Scott, along? Remember Scott? Roommate? I pretty much hate his guts?"

Scott smiled widely in the background, not offended in the slightest and giving him a double thumbs up.

"Scott? Uh ...sure, sure." John conceded easily. Probably just stoked I'm going to this stupid thing in the first place. Should've squeezed more out of him.

"Great. See you tomorrow, I guess." After the goodbyes and hanging up on his father, Stiles gave his roommate the full strength of his focused glare. "You fucking asshole. I hope you know the unfathomable pain you're going make me go through tomorrow. I hope you're happy."

Scott withstood the simmering glower and beamed back. "I'm so stoked, dude. Thank you so much. I owe you, big time."

"Damn right you do," Stiles grumbled, flopping onto his back with a grimace. "This is going to suck. Royally."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This chapter was a difficult birth but after many, many rewrites of certain parts I am finally happy with it. This ends the unofficial "act one" in my plans- the next four chapters will be decidedly more action-packed, woohoo! let me know your thoughts, hopes, and dreams. Comments are love and feed the muse!


	5. Slo-Mo-Tion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is my beautiful show  
> and everything is shot  
> in slo-motion
> 
> (i think we got ourselves a 'real hit')

The beginning of Stiles' day was a little rough to say the least. None of his bracing had quite prepared him for his father's outburst at the black eye he still sported ('What the hell happened to your face?!'). He had to spend all afternoon, including a very tense and awkward lunch, explaining away the injury as best he could without being too specific ('A box of files fell on me at work, hit me in the face, it was super embarrassing, can we move on please?'). Several warning looks were given to Scott who was deeply uncomfortable lying ('it's not lying, it's omitting a bit of the truth' 'oh dude, come on, that's the same thing') to the police chief of all people. After they somehow managed to get over that little hurdle and a truly tortuous fitting session, the day had thankfully passed by quickly though in a hazy cloud of anxiety.

**************************************************

The moon came into view as the limousine glided past one of the taller buildings, full and white- a silent spectator. Stiles sat in the back next to Scott who was bouncing excitedly and his father who mumbled under his breath as he read a small piece of paper, trying to further memorize his speech. I must be stupid to actually agree to this. I think I'm a masochist. He shifted uncomfortably, the form-fitting tuxedo he wore was supposedly perfectly tailored to him but it felt confining, pulling at him in all the wrong places. Nervous tremors traveled up his spine, settled heavily in his belly. He already knew how out of place he was going to be- his "costume", as he had taken to referring to it as earlier in the afternoon, may have covered all his tattoos but he was sure it wouldn't matter. Both Scott and John had assured him he had "cleaned up nice, looked really sharp". It didn't do much to soothe his nerves.

I don't even know who I'm supposed to be looking for. Ugh, I'm so confused.

"You okay, son?" John was studying him, perceptive eyes peering up from the crumpled speech.

No, I'm freaking the fuck out here. "I'm fine."

The ride continued in silence. As they drove through the nicer boroughs he looked out into the city, the windows of the buildings lit up like a thousand different beacons shining at him from the dark. They were approaching a more suburban area where the buildings weren't pressed in tightly and there was actually room between each property. Each house was its own individual architectural style, a mismatched group of homes that only shared the obvious craftsmanship and quality the wealthy could afford. The last of the higher buildings blurred together in the rear-view mirrors.

Their destination loomed ahead at the end of the street, towering over its fellows in a display of excess that was almost obscene even considering its location. The Argent residence- which was technically a mansion by all definition, was surrounded by beautiful, expansive gardens that stretched to the edges of the property. Cutting through the flowers, trees, topiaries, was a paved road that lead straight to the front door and continued in a circle back to the entrance. Surrounding the entire property were lines of tall fencing that seemed to stretch on for miles, steel painted white and topped with nasty looking spikes that discouraged any entry over the top.

"Quite the view, isn't it?" John spoke softly.

Stiles gaped at the sight, Scott having a similar reaction through the opposite window, mind blown by the majestic detail that seemed to be imbued into everything he could see. Sprawling ivy crept up each side of the manor, wrapping itself around several of what had to be a hundred windows, like something out of a story book. Just outside, limousines identical to their own were in already lined up and dispatching their passengers of whose numbers seemed endless as small people poured out of the shiny black vehicles. He could feel the palpitations of his heart beginning, questioning the wisdom of the decision he had come to. Everything seemed to be sped up and happening faster than he knew how to deal with.

As they passed through the huge gates, slowly behind the other arriving guests, Stiles got a clearer view of the proceedings outside the Argent home. Six immaculately dressed men (Servants? Butlers? I knew the Argents were loaded but come on, bit much.) stood on the steps, three on each side, manning tables covered with ...something. He was too far away to make out what the objects were. Women in dresses of every color imaginable (fluffy, neon pink monstrosities to slinky black slips of material that barely could be considered clothing) clung to the arms of their escorts, men in black tuxedos of startlingly varied cuts and styles.

"Ready, boys?"

Stiles blinked, lost in the vision happening through the window. Their limousine had come to a complete stop and it was their turn to disembark and make the short climb to the front doors where the steady line disappeared inside. "Y-yeah, sure." He muttered, hating the stutter in his voice.

Scott gave him a sympathetic look even as John climbed out in front of them. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to, man."

"Bit late now," Stiles forced himself to breathe out. "Go on, I'm right behind you."

His roommate hesitated a moment but followed the Chief out into the garishly lit entrance. You can do this. It's just some fancy party. No big deal. Figure out how to find ...whoever, find out what the hell's going on, haul ass out of here, everything goes back to normal.

Up the richly-carpeted steps, on each landing, were tables covered with a wide array of masks. They ranged from simple, lace and ribbon affairs that were worn on the top half of the face to elaborate constructions that concealed the face completely or even the entire head.

One of the butlers greeted John. "Good evening, Chief Stilinski. Mr. Argent invites you and your party to each choose a mask for the main event later in the evening."

"Main event?" Scott whispered the question to Stiles who answered in a mumble, eyes darting uneasily from eyeless face to eyeless face. A wolf ...who was hidden behind the wolf?

"It's a masquerade ball. I guess that's happening after the boring stuff."

"Cool!" The other boy exclaimed excitedly, snatching up a golden mask with a comically long nose that was almost a beak and slipping the band behind his head. "How do I look?"

"Like a dork," Stiles replied slowly. "So same as usual."

Scott huffed in disagreement but removed the disguise almost self-consciously, holding it to his chest. He scoffed as Stiles reached out unsteadily towards one styled to resemble a classic tragedy mask, a look of profound sorrow on its features- eyes and frowning mouth almost melting. "That one's so creepy, dude."

Stiles shrugged, though a sudden chill came over him as he hung the band around his neck. "Better than being a dickface."

"Is that what it looks like?!" Scott demanded worriedly as he fingered his choice.

"No, it's fine." The hacker sighed, knowing his nervousness was manifesting into a meanness that he knew Scott didn't deserve. "Come on, let's get this over with."

As they passed through the doors, they looked up in awe at the large chandelier that spilled golden light over the crowds of party-goers. The interior decor was somehow sleek and modern, old and Victorian at the same time. It was a bizarre mixture of style but it somehow worked perfectly. All the furniture they could see in the main hall was handsome, dark wood contrasted next to the whiteness of the walls and ceiling. The floor they stood on was an equally white marble. Stiles immediately felt terrified of touching anything inside, let alone the stone he stood on. I feel like I'm desecrating a museum or a church and we're like two steps inside.

The people pressed on, and he forced himself to focus on the numerous interesting pieces to look at and ignore the multitude of bodies surrounding him. They were ushered into a large dining room where chairs and tables had been arranged into a semi circle with one long table facing it from the center of the arches. Stiles suddenly found himself being steered by his father towards a small gathering of people near the edges of the outermost chairs.

"What are you doing?" Stiles hissed with annoyance as he squirmed at the contact, a memory of a tense walk down a gravel path flashing through his head for a second.

"Mr. Argent? This is my son, Stiles. Stiles, Mayor Argent."

He froze as one of the men turned to regard them both with a wide smile that didn't quite reach his cool, grey eyes. His entourage looked on, some seemingly amused by Stiles' mere existence while others appeared already bored with disinterest.

"No need to so formal, John. It's probably more than you're used to but it is a party. It's good to finally meet you," he spoke with an easy confidence and a nod in his direction. "I was beginning to think you were a figment of your dad's imagination," Several of the women behind him laughed like tinkling chimes. Fucking. Hilarious. Stiles frowned at the hint of mockery towards himself and his father. "But it seems you're alive and well." The smile never left his face but something in his eyes made Stiles cold. He immediately looked down at his feet, unconsciously taking a half step closer to his father.

John smiled tightly, seemingly regretting the decision to engage the Mayor with his son. Even holding his current title, he was still obviously uncomfortable in such a setting. Good, that makes two of us.

"I'm going to be sitting at that middle table with the Mayor and some other government people," John murmured in Stiles' ear unexpectedly, making the boy jump. Apparently he had tuned out the rest of the conversation between them. "You and Scott sit wherever you want, okay? I'll find you after all the speeches are done."

Stiles nodded absently, suddenly realizing that despite the dazzling things surrounding him he had agreed to meet his mystery contact. Mystery guardian angel ...? The thought made him want to laugh hysterically as a fluttering sensation passed through his stomach. He looked from person to person, scanning the crowd with an intensity he usually wouldn't have been able to stand. The people laughed and spoke in quiet voices amongst themselves, even that combined murmur echoing off the vaulted ceilings. He continued his roving search, even as Scott dragged him to two chairs off to the side and at the very back.

As they waited for the rest of the guests to arrive and be seated, Stiles soon gave up trying to spot someone he wasn't even sure he was remembering right. "Any ideas on luring out- Scott? Hey, are you listening to me?"

Scott's face was split into a wide smile, nodding along to Stiles' words though it was obvious none of them were reaching his ears.

"What the hell is ...oh, I see." Stiles rolled his eyes.

Seated at the middle table was a girl with pinned up, brown tresses of hair. She was quite pretty- with a shy smile aimed directly at Scott that was currently melting the boy's brain into a puddle of goo.

"Scott, hello?"

"Yeah, man?" His roommate replied in a dreamy, automatic way.

"I can't pay rent this month. I'm gonna invest it and put it towards a meth lab in my bedroom, okay? Is that cool?"

"Sure ...that's cool."

This is completely hopeless. Stiles crossed his arms as the lights dimmed and everyone's focus was on the panel of city officials. It began with one of Mr. Argent's aides running through a summary of his boss' career and accomplishments thus far (little self-congratulatory there, Mister Mayor), and then a short history of the charity the whole event was for. For the last three years the Argents started various fundraising endeavors to fight the homelessness that was allegedly quite the problem in Beacon City. Or it used to be before vast amounts of money was raised by the city's wealthiest citizens. The homeless man he encountered the days before came to mind and Stiles seriously doubted any of the people present would give a dime when face-to-face with their beneficiaries.

While the city's elite droned on and on about how great a job they were doing, how much they had raised the year before- blah, blah, blah, oh my god, waiters were silently serving each guest tall glasses of a dark, burgundy wine. A curly-headed man with the biggest nose Stiles had ever seen stopped at their table and gave him a wink before depositing two glasses before them. As the waiter moved to the next table and so forth, Stiles had the sudden feeling there was something very familiar about him but it made little sense- he was sure he would remember that nose. He fidgeted with the edge of the silken table cloth, rolling it back and forth nervously between two fingers.

"Hey, you okay?" Scott's head abruptly turned in his direction as though sensing his unease.

Stiles snorted though he was a little touched by the concern. "Oh, now you want to talk." At his roommate's confused expression he just shook his head. "Just peachy." He was distracted enough by Scott taking a tentative sip of his wine only to gag comically, nudging the glass over to join his own.

"Dude, that's so gross. Why do people drink that? It tastes like rotten grapes."

"That's sort of what it is. It's not so bad," he replied, draining the glass in one go and ignoring the warm burning sensation it left behind in his throat.

Scott watched him drink with a grimace. "Well you can have mine, man. Maybe it'll help you mellow out a little."

"You're so thoughtful, Scott. It's really very attractive," he said dryly. "Allison must be so impressed."

"Do you think?!" What's the use of having a brilliant sense of humor that your only friend doesn't understand it in the slightest?

**************************************************

Stiles was not impressed. The wine had given him a little buzz and calmed his nerves enough to not want to crawl out of his skin but now he was bored and lonely. Scott had of course disappeared as soon as the speakers were done to go talk with Allison (and not even introduce me. Rude.) and his father was currently in a serious looking talk with Mayor Argent that he was in no hurry to interrupt. Something about the man gave him the creeps. The way he looked at people like objects, like he was trying to ascertain their worth and how he could best approach them.

He sighed quietly, tapping the empty glass against the table when something he hadn't noticed before fell off onto the table cloth. A small piece of paper had been stuck to the condensation on the bottom of his glass and had finally been dislodged. He picked it up with shaking fingers, nervous and even a tiny part of him was excited. Contact ... The ink was smudged with the dampness of the paper, but it was still easy enough to see that it simply read ' **Ballroom** '.

Stiles swallowed, stealing a glance across the room where Scott was still very much enraptured with Allison's mere presence. He rose stiffly to his feet, mechanically pushing the chair back in behind him as he left. With arms tight to his sides, he grit his teeth and joined some of the last stragglers leaving- the room held only a portion of its previous occupants, having now been spread about the estate.

"Aren't you Chief Stilinski's son?" A woman suddenly spoke to him, elegant and leering at his side.

"No, never heard of him." He spoke sharply, his voice cracking a little as he tried to move away but the crowd left him nowhere to go. A glance back revealed the woman and her companions whispering at his back with identical, smug smiles painted across their beautiful faces. 

As they shuffled down the long hallway towards their shared destination, excitable murmurs rippled through the group as they entered the ballroom. The walls and ceiling were covered in a gilded filigree of gold layered on dark green. A massive chandelier that dwarfed the one he had seen earlier cast a bright light making every surface gleam and shine. It was all reflected back at them in the windows black with night, giving the illusion that the already impressive room was twice as large. At the end furthest from him, there was a stage where a small orchestra had gathered, tuning their instruments with scattered, random notes.

Feeling out his depth in the elegant room, Stiles followed the rest of the crowd as people began to don their masks. He slid his own over his face, the band running snug around his head. He quickly found a spot, back against the wall, where he scanned through the now strange and colorful guests from his vantage point. Lines of men and women formed as the orchestra got into position as well, the room beginning to fill with the warm sound of strings. Their bows flew up and down, gracefully playing through some sort of waltz. Stiles' musical tastes ran a bit heavier, more industrial-sounding, but he supposed it was beautiful in its own snooty way.

"May I have this dance, Branch Manager Stilinski?" A teasing, feminine voice addressed him. He hadn't even noticed anyone approaching him, so concentrated on his search. What am I even searching for? Making sure no one here is wearing the wolf mask? Behind an excessively feathered peacock mask, there were mocking red lips that curled into a grin and a vaguely familiar voice.

"S-sorry, think you got the wrong guy." He stammered, thankful for the despairing visage that hid his blushing skin. The hacker was only allowed a step away before the girl grabbed him by the hand.

"Oh no, you're the right guy. Trust me."

"No, no, I don't ...uh, I don't dance. I don't dance, I'm sorry."

"I insist," a hard edge crept into her voice though the smirk never left her lips. She pulled him with surprising strength, her dress twirling around her as she turned in a flash of glittering blue. Stiles found himself being dragged across the floor to be swallowed up within the lines of dancing guests. Realization dawned on him the longer he looked at what he could see behind the disguise.

"You're the girl from the bank! Carie!"

She laughed delightedly at his surprise. "Erica, actually. 'Carie' is an anagram, get it?" She seemed to beam proudly at the simple deception so he nodded along, distracted by his hands being directed- one to her slender hip and the other still locked in her grip.

"You, uh, you look different." He winced, the words slipping out before he had a chance to state the thought with more tact.

Erica didn't seem to mind- if anything her smile grew impossibly wider and she gave a shrug as she led him through the waltz, heedless of his unsteady footwork. "Comes with the job- I have a knack for disguises. You'd be surprised at what I can do with some cheap concealer, a hairdryer, and a little prosthetic help."

"Sure," he muttered, not liking the constant contact of her skin on his and the focus needed to ensure he didn't topple them both to the floor in a tangle of limbs. "Look, what is this all-"

"Don't jump the gun, Stilinski." She interrupted. "My boss wants to talk to you, that's why we're both here right now. Have some patience, shut up, and let me enjoy my dance."

Stiles shut up. At least until he noticed the guy who was staring daggers at him from his previous vigil at the side of the room. He was built like a tank, his mask (a moon with hooded eyes) revealing a clenched jaw that matched well with the tension obviously carried throughout his body like a taut elastic band.

"There's someone watching us," he hissed. "Over there!"

Erica giggled, unconcerned at the notion. "There's lots of people watching us- well, me. Sorry."

Stiles thought he was going to faint, becoming hyper aware of the eyes boring into him.

"But you mean him?" She nodded at the glaring guest as they turned in a circle and slyly laughed under her breath as if something suddenly struck her as funny. "Oh stop it, you big baby. Isaac could have done this part but you're the one who didn't want to dance with me."

"Huh?" I ...what?

She turned her head with a small smile, allowing him to see the small device in her ear. "Don't mind Boyd. He's the jealous type, aren't you, honey?" Erica inquired sweetly, a wide smirk lighting up her features before letting out a cackle at the reply Stiles couldn't hear. The nearest couples stared at them until they grew uncomfortable at the intense eye contact Erica rewarded them with.

"Oh good," she muttered, all good humor leaving her in a flash. "Mein Führer is here."

Stiles blinked, barely hearing her. "Who?"

The girl rolled her eyes as she released Stiles' hand to cover the small microphone clipped to her dress- he hadn't even noticed. "Our fearless leader. Derek. Don't tell him about those little nicknames either, or you'll be sorry."

"Uh ...I won't?" Where did these guys come from? Pretty sure they crawled out of a sitcom or something.

Erica gave him a wry look. "Don't get spooked just yet, okay? Keep an open mind and hear him out. I'll see you later- maybe. Thanks for the dance, Stilinski." She disappeared abruptly through the dancing people, her guiding hands gone and leaving him standing awkwardly in the middle of the room before a larger replacement gently fell on his shoulder.

"May I?"

Stiles twisted around in surprise, his mouth an 'o' of surprise beneath the mask. I knew it. He immediately knew who was behind the mask. "You." He whispered as strong hands led him back into the music- the waltz replaced with something sweeping, slower. He realized it was the first moment in years another man had touched him without an accompanying terror. Ordinarily I'd be freaking out right now ...maybe it's the wine. Or maybe your self-preservations are finally going out the window in the face of someone who's saved your ass hardcore. Twice.

"Me." The man agreed, his voice low and almost growled out beneath the horned devil face that hid most his own. The eyes from Stiles' blurry memory studied him intently to the point he felt like his own red skin was clearly visible even then. A few people had stared curiously at his dancing with Erica, but his turn with another guy was clearing raising some eyebrows.

"Who are you?" Stiles managed to ask the question happily without a stutter, his tone and demeanor much calmer than he actually felt. Ignore them, just ignore them.

"You know who I am," he answered softly.

Stiles' brow furrowed as he thought, a sheen of sweat on his forehead that made the inside of his mask clammy and unpleasant feeling. "That day at the cafe," he spoke slowly. "And ...in the alley. You saved me, brought me back to my apartment that night, didn't you ...Derek?"

Hearing Stiles say his name seemed to please him- a half smile forming across his stubbled jaw. "Good, you remember."

"Sort of," he murmured. "I just- I don't get it. What's going on, and why me? Who are you really?"

The stranger broke eye contact, looked down with an upturned quirk of his lip to where Stiles was just fully grasping how close they were together with a deep blush. He knew even if people weren't watching him before, they were definitely looking at the two men dancing almost intimately together. "What happened to you that night was my fault. I didn't expect him to go for you that soon."

"Who?"

"Chris Argent," he grit it out as if the name physically pained him to say.

"Chris Argent. The Mayor." Stiles repeated dully, a million questions firing off in his head at once and forcing his brain to overheat with the effort of keeping relatively still.

"When we contacted you, he found out. Somehow." He spoke quietly, apologetically, as he leaned close to speak directly in Stiles' ear so no one else could possibly hear. "He tried to have you killed."

A shiver of dread fell over him. "But it seems you're alive and well." Was it meant to be an ironic statement? Did he think Stiles was a willing participant in whatever was going on? If that's the case he must think I have major balls to show up afterwards at his own home. "Oh god," he whispered. "The emails, those stupid temporary ones, that was you?"

"Yes." 

"And the jewelry store, that was you too, wasn't it? That coding you sent me- it was part of their security system ...and I helped you break in."

"You did."

"The news said you didn't take anything."

"We didn't."

Stiles frowned. "What was the point then?"

"The point was to send a message. I wanted to make the Argents nervous."

"I don't understand." The confirmation of several of his own suspicions at once was almost dizzying. The hacker was suddenly grateful for the solid arms that lead him as the music played on.

Derek explained patiently in a low voice. "The Argent family has its fingers in a lot of things, but one of their most profitable is-"

"The bank. Kleiner Danson."

"Yes." It was a drawn out syllable, almost a purr of confirmation that made Stiles heart beat a little faster as he tried to keep his many questions in mind. Doesn't help that he's so close to me ...why am I okay with this?! Because he's right- you know him. You know he's proven to be the sort to look out for someone he doesn't even know himself. You're reasonably certain he's not like ...him.

"Why steal from the Argents though? I mean, besides the fact that they're filthy rich. Actually, I guess that's a good enough reason for you, I-"

"They killed my family." The statement had little feeling behind it. Derek said it casually, as though he were commenting on the weather. It was flat and utterly void of emotion. Holy shit, what do you even say to that?

" ...Uh ...I'm sorry."

"It happened a long time ago." Derek gave a shrug with wide shoulders that made Stiles imagine what his body looked like while it flexed underneath the layers of the tuxedo. Focus, Stilinski. Just because of the weird ways he makes you feel doesn't mean you're ready to jump his bones. "How do you think they became so wealthy? It's not the businesses they own- at least not the legal ones. They're a family of murderers and criminals."

Stiles thought back to the sweet little smiles shared between Scott and Allison even though the mental image made him want to vomit. He doubted the daughter was involved, but her father ...well, it wasn't a hard leap to make after meeting the man and immediately wanting to disappear into the ether. "And you're no criminal?" He winced after he spoke, chastising himself in his head. Careful, that was either really rude or dangerously close to flirting.

Derek flashed him a white and perfect smile that made him want to melt where he stood. "We're not the worst Beacon City has to fear. On the other hand, the men Argent deals with are the sort to beat you until you're barely conscious and leave you for dead in an alley."

"Didn't need a reminder of that." Stiles muttered, a thin cord of fear traveling down his spine.

"I need your help. Just one more time." He needs ...me? My help?

"Wait, hold up. Aren't they after me just for talking to you through email? What are they gonna do if I get even more involved and help you rob a bank?" He knew the panic the questions inspired was steadily raising his voice but he couldn't help it. Derek's grip tightened on him though and Stiles' fear grew exponentially, his trembling hands held firmly in place. 

"Keep your voice down; Argent's men are watching us- no, don't look around. Just keep your eyes on me." No problems there.

Stiles followed the command, the afraid and intrigued parts of him in the battle of the century. He stared into Derek's eyes, a frightening intensity to them that was like looking directly at the sun. He could barely process the man's next words.

"If this job goes well, they won't have the resources to spare coming after you. They'll be short on funds and focused on finding me once they recover." His voice softened, thumb stroking the edge of Stiles' fingers in a comforting gesture. "I'll keep them from you as best I can, I promise."

"You know my dad is the Chief of Police, right?"

Derek nodded. "Yes. It's a good thing too- you'll have some extra protection."

The hacker was quiet for a few beats but could only seriously consider one option though some fantasy involving the handsome stranger was already being created in his head. "I ...I can't do this. I'm really sorry about your family but I ... I can't fuck up everything I've worked for now. If they find out I've touched a computer outside work, or you know, break into a fucking bank, it's go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not-"

"Stiles." It was the first time hearing his name spoken in that almost-annoyed growl and the sound created a heat that pooled in his stomach. "I can't force you to do anything you don't want to, but ...how do you feel about a short...consulting job?" His eyes took on a thoughtful sheen. "You'd technically be doing some work for me."

Yes, yes, yes- "N-no, this is crazy."

"Is it?" Derek seemed to loom over him, his leading movements sharper and agitated in a split second. "Isn't it crazier that people like him get away with tearing lives apart? Do you think a court will ever find Chris Argent guilty of anything? They won't. He has too much money, too many connections. He'll never go to jail for what he did so I'm punishing him the only way I know how: break down everything he's built, one brick at a time." He bit his lip. "Please."

There was a desperation that immediately slid back beneath the surface of quiet intensity, a desire that demanded to be sated any way possible. Stiles knew right away that Derek was not a guy who talked that much and it made the argument all that more convincing. How many times did you wish someone was there to fuck that evil bastard up? How many times did you ask, beg for help and they all turned their backs on you? Argent seems like a guy who deserves it and what's one job off the books in the face of all that good karma? No one's ever going to know I was involved- not that I'll be doing anything illegal anyway.

"What do you mean by consulting?" He asked, the words hesitant and unsure. And I'll get to spend a little more time with Derek.

Derek smiled at him and the sight reeled him in like a fish. "Nothing hands on, just a few pointers for us. It won't take long, and when you're done I can pay you for your ...services."

Stiles found himself babbling under the roguish grin that made each word somehow lewd and obscene in his ears. "I- I uh...yeah, I can do that ...I guess."

The handsome devil nodded approvingly. "I'm glad. I'll pick you up in a couple days, sometime after dark."

Stiles nodded as Derek released him to stand on his own. I suppose he does already know where I live.

"I'm done here. We're leaving." Derek spoke into the microphone though his eyes never left Stiles' awkward form, raking over him from top to bottom as if committing the sight to memory. "Goodnight, Stiles."

"Goodnight." He murmured back, though Derek was already gone. I don't think I'll be getting tired of hearing you say my name. The assertiveness of his own thoughts shocked him as Stiles watched Derek disappear into the sea of formal wear. A second later as if on cue the music stopped and many of the dancers dispersed for a break. He felt a tension he didn't realize was there lessen slightly as he wandered back into the hall, knowing his father would be looking for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Finally. Probably going to be weekly updates at this point for a little while. Apartment hunting is kicking my ass. X(


	6. The Gardener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> every detail  
> every movement  
> every smell  
> sound  
> phrase  
> inflection  
> the way he laughs  
> these are all the things you either obsessively fetishize  
> or make yourself grow to love
> 
> (i'm not man enough to be human)

"Dude, don't do this." Scott hung around in the doorway of Stiles' bedroom, watching him run around through piles of clothes.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "What do you want me to do, Scott? You want something worse than a brick through the window?" He hadn't shared everything Derek had told him, electing to supply his roommate with only the bare minimum of what he had learned. Oh yeah, your girlfriend's dad might be trying to kill me. No worries though. Yeah.

"Well, no ...but," Scott shuffled back and forth, yet another small dog in his arms. "I dunno, man. It doesn't seem like a good idea. You don't know these guys or what they're all about."

"Okay, let's consider the following: talking and dancing, not my favorite but surprisingly tolerable. Ass kickings and threatening messages, yeah not much of a contest there, buddy- my face still hurts. Besides, you were the one who told me to go see what they want." He spoke sardonically, pulling the black jacket he had finally located around him. The sun had set and he wanted to be ready for his ride.

Scott screwed up his mouth in the face of Stiles' logic. "Well I changed my mind, this is probably the worst idea I've ever had. You told the Chief though, right?"

Stiles hesitated only the barest moment, slipping small black earrings in while he studied himself carefully in the mirror. "Yeah, I let him know."

"You're such a liar, dude. Whatever," Scott threw up his hands in frustration, the animal hitting the floor with a yelp. "Go hang out with the sketchbags."

The hacker sighed as his roommate stomped away, the dog giving Stiles a look like he was to blame for its immediate discarding and following Scott out of sight. Stiles continued the conversation anyway, knowing he would be heard in the small apartment. "It'll be fine. I'll text you every now and then so you'll know I'm not chopped up into little pieces or something, okay?"

"That's not funny." Scott sulked from the living room. "...Okay."

Stiles emerged from the bedroom and grabbed his keys from the kitchen table. "I'm going downstairs to wait for Derek. Wish me luck." Fuck knows I'll need it to get through this without making a fool of myself.

"You're on first-name basis with these guys now?"

He chose to ignore the question much to Scott's disapproval, throwing on some old sneakers and closing the door behind him. Once down the hall he pressed the button to call the elevator, humming to himself as he watched the tiny lights on the display come to rest on his floor. You can do this. It's just a job, no different than- oh fuck it's totally different. Stupidly handsome Derek will be there, you'll have to talk to him, you'll have to- well it's no worse than dancing with the guy, nothing will top that- except- no, don't even go there, you-

His garbled stream of consciousness was broken with the beep of the elevator's arrival. The sound of the doors creaking open slowly urged him forward before he walked straight into what he thought for a second was the door. Nope, that's a person. Ohmygod-

Derek just looked at him, much of his expression hidden by the gaunt shadows the yellow light behind him cast over his features. "You should watch where you're going, Stiles."

"Oh! Hey, uh ...yeah. Sorry about that." He stammered at the teasing yet somehow sensual tone, a blush creeping up his neck as if inflicted by the eyes that unabashedly roved over the strip of inked skin exposed at his collar. Prickles of fear and intrigue lodged themselves in his gut like thorns. "You ...didn't have to come up. I was on my way down ..."

The man ignored the platitude and stepped backwards, allowing Stiles to enter the small space with him. "Ready to go?"

Stiles nodded, trying for a casual tone he couldn't quite fake. "Still can't believe I'm going along with this." He received no reply and as the elevator doors slid closed, the air seemed to thicken with a sort of pressure. He stared at the doors resolutely, feeling eyes on him the entire ride down- mercifully only a few floors of suffocating quiet between them. He traced every imperfection in the paint job with his eyes, trying to give himself something else to focus on besides whatever he had signed himself up for.

The closer they got to the ground floor, the more Stiles began to doubt he had arrived at a solid conclusion. Shouldn't have agreed to this in the moment- right, that's why I don't drink. He was debating on telling Derek he had forgotten something upstairs, locking the door behind him once back in the relative safety of his apartment- but then the doors opened revealing the familiar lobby.

Derek stepped out and headed towards the front doors, not looking back to see if Stiles was following. It was jarring to see him out of the elegant tuxedo he had worn the other night, though the sauntering confidence he moved with suggested he might as well have been still wearing one. Alas, the leather jacket had returned (Stiles guessed it was a favorite by the slightly worn look of it) along with well-fitted jeans that hugged all the right parts. Not that I'm looking. I'm not. Nope. Not me. God this is gonna be a long night.

An unremarkable black car waited for them outside, headlights flaring to life and doors unlocking as they approached. Derek cracked open the passenger door and stood there, an arm draped over the top as Stiles shuffled from foot to foot, not sure what was expected of him.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Are you getting in or ...?"

"Sorry!" The hacker stumbled in his hurry to climb in, Derek shutting the door behind him with a peculiar expression on his face that Stiles couldn't identify. He's just being polite, normal people do that all the time.

Once inside, Stiles buckled himself in and watched Derek move around the front of the car- with great interest now that he wasn't looking back at him. The man seemed to do everything with some quiet purpose, the way he held himself spoke of a restrained power, an easy grace and absolute control over his own body. "So where are we going?" He asked as soon as Derek joined him, somehow mustering up the courage to attempt his own brand of banter. "Super secret hideout? Evil lair in the side of a mountain?"

The man let out a bark that Stiles decided was a laugh, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up at the sound. "Nothing that exciting. You'll see."

**************************************************

They had been driving only a few minutes. Stiles assumed the rest of the ride would go by in silence- Derek struck him as someone who only spoke when he had something worth saying, but he was surprised to find it wasn't the case. Maybe he has something worth saying to you.

"I make you nervous." There was no question in the self-assured voice.

Stiles looked out the window, searching the city for an adequate answer. What do I say to that? "N-no, I'm ...I'm cool," he squeaked out. "No problems here."

They had stopped at a red light and Derek turned to face him, eyes searching him like spotlights. "Don't ever lie to me, Stiles." With six words the atmosphere in the car had instantly become something like a freezer with the clearly-enunciated speech that was in danger of devolving into a growl. "I can tell when people lie to me, and I don't like it. At all."

Jesus fucking Christ on a mountain. "I'm sorry! You- you do make me nervous." Stiles let out a weak chuckle that was equal parts uncomfortable and bitter. "A lot of things do. Actually this isn't even that bad compared to what I'm normally like. It's kind of weird I can even deal with talking to you at all, not even touching-" he gestured to their current position, "all of this."

The tension simply melted away with Derek's curl of a smile. "It's not all nervousness though, is it?"

Stiles blushed at the bluntness of the question, hands wringing each other in embarrassment. A beat passed as his brain tried to unscramble itself, forming an inquiry he could thankfully change the subject with. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything." Anything? Anything at all? I doubt it, no one ever means that. Some things are better off left alone ...like your family, I bet. Or the Argents. Or ...

"Why did you help me? Like, at all? I still don't get it."

Derek sighed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The headlights of over cards lit up the inside of the car brilliantly for a moment before they were plunged back into the relative darkness. "I already told you."

Stiles nodded slowly, trying to think of a way to probe further that wouldn't irritate the guy. "I know ...you feel responsible, right? But there has to be more to it."

The statement seemed to amuse him. "Does there?" It appeared to be obvious to him that Stiles wasn't about to let it go when his voice lost its teasing edge and turned low, serious. "I needed a hacker, and you're the best I could find. You're an asset to me, and Argent knows it- even though he's not sure why. I happened to be in the right place at the right time and I couldn't lose that advantage over him. Does that answer your question?"

Well ...yeah, but ...ouch. Nothing like feeling like a commodity to be fought over. "Uh ...yeah. I guess."

The silence returned after the exchange, leaving Stiles with the odd feeling he had made some sort of mistake, an error he couldn't take back. He managed to glance over at Derek a few times, searching for some sense of where he stood with him. The conversation that passed between them seemed to go back and forth wildly, by turns hot and cold, and it dizzied him. He shifted in his seat, looking out at the city lights and simply breathed, in and out. Just do the job, get it over with. This guy is ...unpredictable. You don't know him. At all. What the hell are you doing here anyway? He questioned himself but already knew why he had accepted the offer. It wasn't fear of the unknown that drove him as much as fear of a repetition of the past. Why does he do it though? Is it just because of his family? What were they like?

"What?"

Stiles jerked his head off the back of the seat in surprise. In a stunned, horrific moment he realized he had spoken the thought out loud. "I'm so sorry, really, I- sometimes I just say shit without thinking, I-"

"Mom was a teacher, second grade. Dad was a lawyer. They were good to me and my sister. Laura." Derek talked over Stiles' stammering until the hacker shut up, amazed both at the calm recital of the answer to his lack of tact and the fact he got an answer at all. "We were that perfect family- barbecues with the neighbors, white picket fence, well-liked in our community, all of it. Then-" the first glimmers of anger appeared on his face, jaw and knuckles tight. "-the Argents happened. Dad went up against them in a case and Argent was going to lose and everyone knew it. They thought they did anyway."

"What happened?" Stiles whispered, rapt with the imagined ghosts of the man's past.

Derek stared out through the windshield, voice flat-lining. "I was at college at the time but I came home for Christmas break. Laura didn't go out of state like I did, so she was already there. I drove down our street, had all their presents in my backseat, and saw the fire trucks. They ...burned. They burned alive, all of them. My parents, Laura, and her boyfriend. All dead."

"I'm ...sorry."

The apology was either unheard or ignored as the story continued. "I know it was them- the Argents. Chris' sister, Kate, even came to the funeral. I knew she was involved, it was in her eyes- even as she offered her sympathies her eyes were ...laughing. I went to jail for a while after that. Hit the bitch so hard I almost broke her jaw." Derek smiled almost fondly at the memory and it sent a shiver through Stiles, of dull horror and a sort of shocking empathy for the violent sentiment. Holy shit. That was a bit more than I bargained for.

Stiles swallowed, seeing the Mayor's smiling face again in his mind and a stinging black hatred welled up within him. The face of Chris Argent and Alan Carson seemed to blur together, overlapping into one and seperating again. He could understand and identify the parallels- seemed inevitable where people who held any power were concerned. He knew if he were the in the position to do what Derek wanted, he would take it in a second with little thought to the law.

"Uh, Derek?"

The man grunted, taking a turn that would lead them towards Beacon Harbor.

"I still ...I can't help you rob a bank, I just can't but ...I'll help as much as I can, okay?" He waited for the snort of derision he felt he deserved for his own wishy-washy feelings but it never came.

Derek grinned suddenly, all trace of smoldering anger gone, and his heart beat a little faster. "I know you will."

They drove along the harbor, large ships dark and towering over them from their bobbing vigil in the water. Stacks of shipping containers hid the rest of the city from their view, the inside of the car suddenly void of any light save the glow of the car displays. Through the darkness, one small dot of white shone in the distance. At the very edge of the harbor was a building with a single porch light lit up, beckoning them forward. Behind it, tall pine trees rose up and stretched towards the sky, empty of any stars or clouds. Almost surrounded by water and forest, Stiles immediately figured it for a convenient base of operations. Easy escape routes for sure. The closer they got, he could see a shadowy figure waiting for them on the wooden pier joined to the building, jutting out into the water.

Derek parked the car and switched the ignition off, plunging them into complete darkness. "Let's go." The grunt came from his shadowed person and the sight uncomfortably reminded Stiles of the alley, the figure standing over him. Great association. Just stellar.

"Okay, let's." Stiles got out of the car, keeping control of his breathing for the moment, and followed Derek towards the building he guessed was supposed to be an office of some sort. It was built with cheap, unfinished wood and probably not meant to be a permanent fixture.

The person waiting for them stepped under the light and Stiles immediately recognized him. (A grinning, rather good looking boy held the door, making a gesture with his free hand that plainly meant 'after you'.) He spoke up solemnly, hands in his pockets and looking as standoffish as Stiles felt. "Everything went okay?"

Derek grunted, his seemingly standard reply to half his conversations. "He's here, isn't he?"

The boy sized Stiles up inquisitively, offering an introduction a moment later. After laser-eyes here it's a walk in the park. "I'm Isaac. We sort of met-"

"Outside the bank last week, I remember." Stiles interrupted.

Isaac nodded. "And at the Argent's place the other night. I was the waiter."

The hacker screwed up his mouth, the memory coming back to him a little out of focus. "The big-nosed dude?"

"Yeah," the boy winced. "That was uh ...Erica's handiwork. She thought I should try to blend in more."

Stiles laughed, a short breathy sound that left his lungs. "With that beak? No way."

"Isaac," Derek barked out coarsely. "We don't have a lot of time."

It was difficult to tell in the light, but Stiles swore Isaac paled a little and almost withered under the glower directed at him. Guess Derek runs a pretty tight ship.

"Sorry, Derek." He spun around and hastily unlocked the front door with a small key, disappearing inside.

Stiles took a look out over the harbor, listening to the water lapping at the shore below them in a peaceful rhythm as he could feel Derek behind him, ever watching. He decided that later, when he had the time to himself, he needed to seriously examine the conflicted feelings he was experiencing. On one hand being under the other man's gaze made him want to run away- on the other he wanted to bathe in it, the careful scrutiny that confused him yet made him feel warm at the attention from someone like Derek. Someone like Derek? What does that even mean? Good looking and also a criminal? He knew you had an immediate crush before you did and he wants you for this job, of course he's going to play to that. That's all this is, stupid. His thoughts took a tailspin, the beginnings of a panic attack starting to make itself known. His heart felt too big for his chest, beating so loudly he was sure it was easily audible to the man behind him.

"Stiles? Breathe." Derek's voice rumbled right next to his ear- when did he get so close? The simple command repeating in his head, sinking in, slowly sliding over him like a cooling balm on his burning nerves. "You're okay, I'm here. Come on, we've got some work to do."

He felt Derek's arm wrap around his shoulders, leading him towards the door Isaac had left open a small crack. He breathed in, letting the combined smell of salt water that mixed with the heady, leathery scent of Derek invade his senses. The tension gradually left his muscles under the guiding touch, his heart beat quickened now for several different reasons as the door closed shut behind them.

**************************************************

"STILINSKI!" A laughing voice crowed out in greeting, making Stiles wince and falling behind Derek, using the larger man as a shield of sorts. The inside of the office seemed to be mostly one large room, a staircase on the far side that lead to what he assumed was a basement of sorts. A small television in the corner was blasting music videos, a sleazy guitar solo pouring over the scene. The blonde girl, Erica, and a dark-skinned guy, whom Stiles could only assume was the agitated boyfriend (Boyd?) from the other night, sat at a table playing cards. She shot him a grin and Boyd gave a nod in his direction though he suspected it was more of a mere acknowledgment of Derek's presence.

He was having a hard time imagining anyone not picking up on the ...aura the man possessed. It was like a current of energy was constantly humming around and through him, always on the very cusp of explosion.

"Let's get started." The words implied suggestion but it was nothing if not a command. As soon as the words left Derek's mouth the television was shut off, the card game forgotten. Erica and Boyd immediately headed for the stairs, the girl giving Stiles a wink as she passed. Derek followed behind and motioned for Stiles to do the same with an outstretched hand. "I'll show you what we have so far."

"Okay, sounds good." He answered, his voice sounding calmer than he felt as they descended the creaking, wooden steps together. The basement level was a mirror of the floor above them with several thin dividers sectioning one side off in a few chunks. A spartan table and a few chairs were the centerpiece for the room.

"Beds, for when we mess up and have to lay low for a while. There's a little kitchen and bathroom in the back too." Erica gestured lazily at the edges of cheap bedding peeking out from behind each portion.

"Is that often?" He asked, starting to feel a familiar hunger for knowledge break through his shy quietness.

Derek had withdrawn to the opposite side of the basement, pulling down large rolled up papers of some sort from shelves on the wall. Erica's eyes flickered to his back for a split second, shared a look with Boyd, but Stiles caught it before her smile fixed itself back in place. "Nah, we're pretty good at what we do." I'm sensing some other reason there. The paranoia of the thought caught him off guard but he shook it away with a sight that took his breath away: next to the table where Derek was covering it with what he could now identify as blueprints of some kind, was the most beautiful thing Stiles had ever seen.

It was a computer, but it was also much more than the average machine. It was obvious at first glance it had been heavily customized, possibly upgraded internally as well judging by the multiple parts wired and fitted together. The purring of the processors working together was a symphony in his ears, multiple monitors displayed pages and pages of information his eyes were already eager to devour. That gig at the bank is nothing compared to what I could do with this thing. He was in danger of salivating when Isaac stood up from behind the massive piece of machinery with a weak smile and a small screwdriver in one hand.

"This is my baby." He patted the side of a monitor with clear pride in his work, looking on fondly as Stiles approached the creation with a reverence he held for nothing else.

"It's ...amazing." Stiles almost whispered, everyone else in the room vanishing. "What sort of specs?"

Isaac's eyes lit up as he began to rattle off the various modifications he had bestowed. He moved around the console and reached out to show Stiles a particular piece of hardware when he froze and the words died in his throat. The hacker blinked at the sudden silence, looking over to the others. Erica and Boyd seemed suspiciously busy straightening the blueprints fixed to the table.

Stiles almost let out a gasp at the look on Derek's face- the man looked ...enraged, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he stared Isaac dead in the eye.

"Isaac." Derek growled. "Access the bank systems- now."

The boy didn't reply to the blizzard of an order. He nodded once and quickly sat on the stool next to them, getting to work with a blank expression reflected at Stiles in the monitors. Holy shit, what's all that about?

"These are the only blueprints we were able to get a hold of," Derek voice lost its edge as he leaned over the table, lit by a bare bulb that hung from the ceiling above. "They're only the preliminary plans of the architect, so there's blank spots we need filled in."

Stiles came closer to the edge of the table, warily standing at Derek's side. He leaned over the plans, taking the pen the leader offered after a brief hesitation. The plastic was still warm as he rolled it between his fingers, studying the black lines. "Well, this spot here," he marked a small square off. "I'm ...pretty sure those are bathrooms."

"Pretty sure." Boyd muttered, sullen under a warning glare from Erica and Derek both.

Derek leaned in alongside him, his hand suddenly hot and blanketing Stiles' own as he spoke in a gentle voice. "Are they bathrooms or not?"

It was suddenly hard to think, let alone be sure of such a small detail. Woah, come on, you got this. "Uh ...yes, they are. I know they are." He tried to sound confident- aware he failed miserably but Derek seemed to be pleased nonetheless and rewarded him with a small smile that he tentatively returned. "And these are ...offices." He held his tongue between his lips as he scribbled small words in his messy handwriting.

The gang of thieves watched on as Stiles slowly filled in their map, all quiet in the moments he paused and had to search his own brain for the right answers. He soon exhausted his knowledge of the inner workings of Kleiner Danson, having only ever worked on the ground floor. "Okay," he murmured as he set the pen down on the pages. "This is all I know, I'm sorry."

Derek's hand left its perch, leaving Stiles' fingers sweaty but somehow missing the steadying pressure that had withdrawn from him. The fingers stroked the freshly drawn additions, unaware of the mesmerizing effect on the hacker. "This is ...helpful."

Stiles' heart sank. He could tell from Derek's hesitance he hadn't really helped them much at all. This isn't fair repayment at all. He saved my life and I'm pointing out the goddamn toilets. Fuck, I'm such an idiot.

"I'm in, Derek." Isaac spoke softly, his back to them and focused on the screens in front of him.

"I thought you needed a computer expert?" Stiles questioned as they all abandoned the blueprints in unison to stand closer behind Isaac, whose reflection gave him a wry, humorless grin.

"I'm good at breaking and entering, picking locks, that sort of stuff. I just dabble in the digital part- I'm not very good at that part."

A realization hit Stiles. "You tried to hack in the other day, didn't you? You accidently set the sprinklers off- that was you!"

Isaac cringed at the accusation but Derek answered it with a curiously flat voice. "Like he said, that's why we need you."

Stiles could feel the others shifting uneasily behind him, the promise of ...something heavy in the air. How does he do that? Doesn't even really say anything but the way it changes the air in the room, just ...wow.

"Derek ...we all have our own talents," Erica began slowly, resting a hand on Isaac's shoulder as she spoke to their leader. "We've never had a lock Isaac couldn't get through, right?"

The tension didn't seem to diffuse so Stiles did the social equivalent of a high dive and jumped back into the conversation with the first thing that popped into his head. "So Isaac's your locksmith, Erica's the master of disguise, what does Boyd do, besides menacing glares?" He blurted out, uncomfortably aware of the four pairs of eyes staring at him as he looked down as if addressing his sneakers. Excuse me, I need to go outside and jump into the harbor.

A second passed before Erica let out another crow that apparently served as her laugh, elbowing Isaac who was making an admirable try at keeping a straight face before turning back around to the screens in front of him.

Boyd crossed arms that were thicker than Stiles' middle and gave him a withering look that would've given Lydia a run for her money. "I blow shit up." He huffed out, looking very displeased at his cohorts reactions.

"Boyd's our demolition man," Erica grinned, leaning in and kissing his cheek even as she teased him. " _My_ demolition man."

"I- I see," Stiles mumbled. His eyes flickered back to the screen where he had a split second to react, startling the others with his sudden shout. "Don't open that!" His face flushed as everyone turned to regard him curiously, exact Isaac whose fingers twitched as they hovered above the keyboard.

"It's all the account information though," the amateur said, confused by the outburst. "That's something we can mess with, isn't it, Derek?"

Stiles shook his head in impatience. "Script kiddies," he muttered, elbowing Isaac out of the way so his greedy fingers could make contact with the machine. Isaac vacated the stool with a small sound of indignation but let the other boy take over.

A thrill of something close to euphoria overtook him as he began to access the familiar layouts of Kleiner Danson's inner files through the console. Stiles felt a sense of calm and complete control, like he could finally breathe in a lung full of fresh air. The audience behind him faded into the background, only the soft patter of his fingertips brushing the keys filled the air for a moment as they watched several different screens come to life, flowing with information.

"That was the honey pot," he explained in a distant, half-focused voice as he worked without thought.

"Honey ...pot?" Someone exclaimed slowly behind him, he wasn't paying attention.

"It's a decoy file- a trap. Something to fish out anyone inexperienced or over-confident. That's why it was on the surface and easy to find. No offense."

"None taken." Isaac muttered, eyes barely able to keep up with the flurry that was Stiles' hands.

The hacker fidgeted impatiently as a particularly long command took a few seconds to load the results. "Basically once they're breached they alert the police to your exact whereabouts. This one has the bonus of also automatically counter-attacking the intruder- that's you, and implanting your hard drive with a nasty virus courtesy of the creator- me."

A murmur ran through them, Erica speaking up with a certain incredulity. "You _made_ this thing?"

"Yeah ..." Stiles shifted uneasily as the praise obvious in her voice. "Anyway, the files you actually want are right ...here." He entered a string of commands that revealed multiple files that suddenly appeared on screen. "Encrypted and hidden- from the human eye and any sort of digital search." Detailed blueprints and employee files began to fill the monitors rapidly to be dissected at their leisure.

"Impressive," Derek leaned over him, breath hot in his ear. "But I thought you weren't going to do anything hands-on for us?"

"O-oh, right," he squeaked. Shit, didn't mean to do that. Shit. Shit shit shit shit- "Guess I got ...caught up in the moment." Stiles looked to each of them as briefly as his rising panic would allow: Erica smiled approvingly while her other half looked at the screens busy compiling data with some wonder on his face, Isaac- Where is Isaac? was nowhere to be seen, and then there was Derek. Stunningly close to him, lips a small, pleased smirk that made his brain feel like it was leaking out his ears. He stood up on shaking legs, backing away from the console. "I think that's all I can do for you. I ...I need to go outside. Need some fre- need some air."

"I'll come with you," Derek offered in a low voice.

"No!" The smirk on Derek's face vanished, his eyes narrowing as if Stiles had said something offensive and distasteful. "I mean ...I just need to be alone for a few minutes. I'll be right back."

With that he scampered back up the stairs, eyes searching for the door they had entered through earlier. A twist of the knob later and he was back on the docks, the chilly air refreshing on his hot face.

God I just fucked up bad. Didn't even think about it- oh here, let me hack into a bank for you, no problem. Toeing the line is one thing, you just fucking somersaulted over it. Congratulations- you're officially an accomplice.

"Hey."

Stiles whirled around, heart hammering in his chest at the sudden noise in the night. In the shadows, Isaac leaned against the wooden rail that ran down the length of the pier. A lit cigarette dangled from his mouth and glowed in the darkness, a tiny light flaring to life as he inhaled. Goddamn can we all be done with this thing of trying to cause me some cardiac arrest? "H-hey, didn't see you there." He put a shaking hand on the edge of the dock. "I'll just be a sec, needed some ...air."

Isaac's silhouette shrugged before he took a step closer into the pool of light emanating from the porch. "It's cool." He breathed out a stream of smoke through his nostrils, evanescent and grey. An arm stretched out towards Stiles, offering him the tiny white stick which he accepted gratefully after a moment of hesitation.

"Thanks." Needed some air, started smoking instead. How ironic.

"No problem." Isaac stared out at the water, black and gently churning.

The first inhalation went straight to Stiles' head, the sudden rush of nicotine making him a little dizzy. It's been a while- dear old Dad won't be happy. The thought of his father made him take another puff, purely out of spite, that made him cough and wheeze like the first time he had tried it. He passed the cigarette back to Isaac, light-headed as he watched the horizon in the distance, trying to see where the sea met sky and failing. "Hey," he spoke in a murmur he hoped the other boy could hear over the water hitting the rocks below them. "I'm sorry about ...back there. Didn't mean to upstage you or anything."

Isaac didn't seem particularly upset as he puffed quietly. "Good thing you did- almost brought the cops straight to our door step."

"This is true," the hacker murmured. "So ...since the other night I've been wondering ...uh, how did you guys ...-"

"How did we all start our promising careers in robbery?" A slight smirk accompanied the words. Isaac crossed his arms at Stiles' nod and a thoughtful look came over his face. "Derek roped us all in, I guess. I had ...some problems with my old man, and he gave me a way to get out of there. I wasn't going to some foster home- Boyd told me enough about the experience after he got here and trust me, I made the right choice. Hindsight's twenty-twenty though, right?"-

-"How could I let this happen? I mean, it should have been obvious. You're my son, Stiles. My own son, and I didn't notice anything was wrong. How do you think that makes me feel?"

Not one but three mostly empty whiskey bottles crowded the center of the kitchen table.

Stiles wanted to ask him how he thinks it felt being- "Dad. Come on, let's just go to bed-"

"NO!" John looked up with red eyes, his son swimming and blurry before him. "No. I can't sleep. Not knowing that ...that bastard is out there, free, because of what?! I'm gonna-" the sheriff sways in his seat before he regains his focus. "I'm gonna quit. I'm ashamed to wear this goddamn badge."

Stiles wanted to tell him he should quit for real if he means that. Even if it means he'll just be at home drinking, at least he'll be home. Instead he sighed and easily pried his father's hand off the empty glass he kept trying to drink from. "You're not going to quit. You can't, because you're the best officer they have right now, that they'll ever have."

John's lip wobbled but the man didn't cry anymore- not even when so drunk he can barely see. "I'm gonna stay home tomorrow, okay? Take a sick day. We'll go get some curly fries and go see a movie, have a day together, just you and me? What do you say? Just like old times."

"Sure, Dad." Stiles answered in a monotone, helping his father towards the couch. He knew from past experience it was awkward and dangerous trying to get up the stairs to his father's bedroom. "Sounds good."

The next day the Sheriff went to work as scheduled, even picking up two extra shifts that week."-

-"I think I know what you mean," Stiles replied absently, trying to shake the dregs of the memory off. "Your dad didn't approve of you breaking into things that weren't yours, I imagine."

Isaac chuckled humorlessly. "More like breaking out." He continued somewhat reluctantly under the puzzled look he received. "Used to lock me up in a dog kennel in our basement when my grades got too low or I was out too late. Then there were the times he was just in a bad mood and I 'provoked him'."-

-"Mr. Stilinski, how many times must we go through this before you learn?"

His knees burned where they had been scraped raw by his collision with the concrete floor. Sweat dripped into his eyes- or was it tears? He grit his teeth and waited for the next blow that was sure to come.

"I think we need to take more drastic measures here. Obviously our last ...meeting you didn't quite understand that it's never wise to provoke me. Right now you may think me a monster, that your suffering cannot possibly get any worse, but believe me- you are incorrect in that assumption."

His eyes closed, body shaking with terror at the words that poured over him like an icy shower.

"Let me think now, what's the longest period of time you've been down here in solitary, hmm? I believe you hold the record for ...three days. Is that right? Yes, I think it is. How about this-"

The silken material of the doctor's pants pressed into his face, an urge to throw up as he felt the aroused member pressing into the side of his temple. A voice hissed down at him but he squeezed his eyes shut tight, hoping maybe it would all go away.

"How about double or nothing, Mr. Stilinski? You show me ...a little kindness, and I'll let you out earlier though we both know you don't deserve it. Or we can try and break your record. The choice is yours."

He said nothing. Teeth chattering together painfully as he fought to stay still and silent, trying to remember Danny and the things he had taught him but it had been some time and the memories were starting to fade like a dream after waking. A hand gripped his head and shoved him backwards where he sprawled out limply.

"Very well," the cold voice promised. "We'll see you in six days."

The door slammed shut-

-"Uh ..." This is getting a little too close for home. Guess we have some stuff in common. Great.

"I know, pretty fucked up, right? Anyway, after me we picked up Erica and then Boyd- Derek actually busted her out while she was getting arrested for ...shoplifting or something, I forget."

Stiles carried on the conversation absently, half-listening to the information supplied while repeats of memories played on in his head. "So how did he find you?"

"Who knows. We just get together every couple of months for a job and go our separate ways afterwards until the next one." Isaac frowned. "This one is the biggest yet though, it's got us all a little antsy to be honest. Derek's usually pretty intense but I've never seen him like this."

"Makes sense though, doesn't it?" Your whole family in one go, yeah I'd want to do worse than steal the guy's money.

"Why's that?" Isaac took a drag, brows furrowed with interest.

Stiles swallowed, a lump in his throat and a bad taste creeping across his tongue. "Well ...I mean, like with his family?"

"What about them?" He didn't tell them what happened?

"I ...uh, I'm sorry, I don't think I'm supposed to say."

Unperturbed, Isaac threw the butt over the side and they both watched it bob away on the tide. "We don't actually know a whole lot about each other's personal lives. Probably for the best."

"Why do you say that?"

Isaac shifted his weight and Stiles could tell he was uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken. "Nothing, just- never mind."

Stiles was debating on whether questioning further would be prying or ruin the moment when Isaac decided for him and actually continued of his own volition.

"Look, you've just met us and I probably shouldn't be saying this, but ..."

"But?"

"Just ...be careful, alright? I know we're not angels here but we're not bad people either for the most part."

A little vague, a little cagey, dude. "Yeah I figured as much. Be careful of what though?"

Isaac's voice dropped to a whisper, nervously looking at the building behind them. "Derek."

The hacker almost laughed- he couldn't help it. "Derek? Why? I mean, yeah, the guy's pretty serious business, but besides coercing me into bank robbery he doesn't seem like bad news. I mean, he's actually covered my ass a couple times now."

To Stiles' surprise, Isaac nodded as if he were expecting every word. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"What does? I'm confused."

"I mean-" another glance behind them. "Look, Derek ...he's good to us when he's good. We get a pretty good cut from every job, probably more than our fair share but he can be ...obsessive about certain things." The boy shoved his hands inside the windbreaker he wore. "I'm pretty sure he ...collects people."

Well that's the strangest statement I've heard today by far. "You're not making much sense, I've gotta tell you."

Isaac leaned in conspiratorially, the words spilling out as if he were finally able to impart his theory out loud to someone else. "I know, it sounds really dumb when I say it out loud but Derek's like ...a gardener, okay? And I'm pretty sure you're his new prize rose bush or something. He's-"

Stiles felt his own eyes widen to match Isaac's which bulged out a little at the sound of the door opening and closing behind them with a creak. He was sure both of them screamed guilt by their body language and twin expressions but he managed to turn and give a small nod in greeting though lacking any eye contact.

"Ready to go home?" Derek's expression betrayed nothing- no knowledge of their interrupted conversation could be seen in his face but it didn't put Stiles at ease in the slightest.

**************************************************

They drove through Beacon City at a breakneck pace, the wipers working furiously against the rain that had started just as they left the docks. It was late now, and most of the buildings were just dark towers looming on either side of the car.

"So," Stiles broke the awkward silence between them, punctuated by the sound of the rain drops hitting the roof of the car. "When's the big day anyway?"

A couple blocks passed by before Derek tersely replied. "Tomorrow."

"Oh! Tomorrow. That's ...uh, that's pretty soon." The boy winced at the rambling string of words he knew was about to fly out of his mouth. "Sure you're ready? Not that I'm questioning how uh ...how good you are or anything, just wondering if you're prepared, you know-"

"We have to be. It has to be tomorrow."

Stiles nodded, hummed to himself as he watched the rain trickle down the window. "What's so special about tomorrow?" He startled, eyeing Derek with a jolt of fear as he slammed on the brakes, the car coming to a dead stop in the middle of the empty street. "Derek?"

The man's chest heaved, his whole body taut with tension as he stared out through the wind shield. If Stiles didn't know any better, he'd say Derek was having the panic attack of a life time until he let out a growl that passed for speech.

"What do you care?"

"Huh?" Stiles shrank back from the sudden anger into his seat hoping the material would swallow him up. I'm starting to think he has an evil twin or something.

"What. Do. You. Care?" The man hissed out through his teeth. "You've made it clear you have no interest in helping us further."

"I-"

Derek made a sound close to a snarl and put the car back into drive as Stiles fell silent, trembling and wondering what he did wrong. How much of that conversation did he hear?

"Derek, I want to help more, I do, but-"

"But you'd rather let the Argents continue to do what they do."

"No! No, of course not-"

"Really? They do a lot worse than send thugs out to beat up kids in alleys, Stiles. They murder their political opposition. You speak to the media about them and whatever story you had disappears along with you, never to be seen again. People that owe them money and can't pay it back fast enough, people who stand up to them get burned alive in their own homes."

"Derek, stop." Stiles choked out, close to tears under the tirade.

"No, it's fine. Go back to your roommate and your father and keep pretending you're safe. And maybe you will be if everything goes according to plan. Maybe you'll never see any hint of Chris Argent again. Or maybe he's sending someone to finish you off tonight. Maybe your roommate's already dead and they're waiting for you with their guns aimed at the door, waiting-"

"DEREK! PLEASE!" Tears flooded his face, wet sobs wrenched from within him as they pulled up to his apartment.

Derek slumped back in his seat, heavily sighing and rubbing his eyes in frustration. "I'm sorry." He apologized in a weary voice to the trembling boy in his passenger seat. "I'm just ...I don't know if we can pull this off." The admission seemed to drain all energy out of the man, leaving a hollow shade behind. After a beat of silence he leaned over and laid a hand on Stiles' shoulder, squeezing in what seemed to be meant as a comforting, apologetic gesture.

Stiles' breath came in stiff gasps as he slowly regained control, a tear dripping down to leave a dark grey spot on his seat belt. "I'm so sorry." He whispered as he unbuckled his seat belt with shaking fingers, one hand hesitating on the door handle.

"Don't be. I can't ask you to get any more involved than you already are." Derek shook his head, the sadness only present in his eyes made Stiles want to hug him and never let go despite the verbal lashing he had just received. "Go on, it's late. Keep an eye on the news tomorrow- you can see how we do." With a self-deprecating ghost of a smirk he reached across Stiles and opened the door for him, ushering him out gently. "Thanks for the help."

The hacker stumbled out of the car, wrapping his arms around himself. The car didn't move. With a pang, Stiles figured Derek was waiting to make sure he got inside safely though he was just outside the front doors of the apartment. As he turned the key in the lock he looked back to see a short wave from Derek before the man drove away, the rev of the engine echoing in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day before scheduled! Go me! You might notice the end chapter count has increased to 14- I was mulling over the ending yesterday and decided it could benefit from an epilogue of sorts. We'll see though, it might change back. Who knows. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this installment and next chapter maybe we'll find out just what Derek is gardening. ;)


	7. The Flowers Of Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the day they covered us in the dirt  
> like stars in the ground  
> that will grow into dead flowers
> 
> (i've been running from the bloodless)

Stiles bolted upright with a gasp, chest heaving as he stared wild-eyed around the dark bedroom. His sheets were damp with sweat leaving his skin cold and clammy with the last remnants of his dreams.

After Derek had dropped him off he had went straight to bed, grateful Scott had a late shift at the clinic and he didn't have to explain his wretched demeanor. Stiles had meant to sleep through the night and most of the day in the attempt to forget the past week had even happened. Unfortunately for him, he found himself plagued with nightmares that all shared a distinct theme: Derek and the rest being arrested, shoved into the back of a SWAT van, the leader's eyes burning into him with a terrible betrayal. Ugly shoot outs with the police, Derek taking a bullet in the chest, his eyes wide with shock and the spark of life within them fading as he hit the ground. Worst of all were the ones where officers that all had Carson's face stood behind the would-be bank robbers, grinning as they lined up their guns in preparation for four executions on the front steps of Kleiner Danson.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes before opening the curtains a sliver. The sun was just rising, the sky a wondrous orange and pink that would only last an hour or so. I don't know them ...I don't owe them anything. No, that's not really true though, is it? I owe him- I know I do. I've gotten wrapped up in something bigger than ...me, something he can help me deal with, but instead I'm running scared. Nothing's changed, has it? Carson's in my goddamn nightmares, in all my phobias, running through my whole fucking life. Everything I do, he's influenced in some way. And Derek ... he's the first guy that I ...I like him, I can stand to be close to him. Must be the whole anti-authoritarian thing he's got going on.

The coffee pot let out a beep that made Stiles wince, listening for his roommate waking up, but Scott was down for the count and snoring away peacefully. After a disappointing discovery that they were out of milk, he settled for drinking the brew black with heaps of sugar. It disgusted him as he took the first few sips with a grimace, the cloying taste sweet and bitter at the same time. Retreating to his room, he forced himself to take larger gulps as he considered the hint of a sunrise behind the curtains.

I've already made up my mind, haven't I? This is ...crazy. I'm crazy. Despite those thoughts the hacker rushed around the room in a sudden burst of frantic energy, almost throwing the near empty mug on the dresser. Small droplets of coffee flew up to splatter the mirror on the wall but he didn't notice. Stiles shoved the nearest articles of clothing he could get his hands on in a blue duffel bag, along with a few spare toiletries he could be bothered to remember. Almost tripping over his own feet, he hurriedly scrawled a note to Scott explaining he would be away for a day or two on a job and that he'd have his phone on him for emergencies. With a second thought he underlined the last word a few times, hoping to escape any distraction. Minutes later, he found himself running through the early morning streets.

**************************************************

Birds chirped overhead, one of the few sounds of a city not yet awake to accompany the slapping sounds of Stiles' shoes against the pavement. His bag was slung over his back, hitting him with every lunging stride.

Please be there. Please be there. The thought bounced around inside his mind repeatedly as he ran down the length of the harbor, almost unfamiliar in the daylight. As the hide out masquerading in plain sight as a small office came into view, it spurred Stiles on though a sharp pain flared to life in his side.

Without any hesitation he knocked on the front door, holding his knees and gasping for breath from his exeritions. What if he's not here? What if the police got tipped off and he's already been arrested? What if-

"Stiles?"

The hacker looked up, squinting in the rapidly rising sun. Derek looked out through a crack in the door, brows furrowed as his eyes left Stiles momentarily to search the background behind him. "He-hey ...still need ...some help?" he panted out with ragged breaths.

Derek opened the door wider, shoving a small black pistol Stiles hadn't noticed before in the back of his jeans. The sight of it made the hacker freeze but the man ran a hand through his hair and stood to the side of the door. "Get in here before someone sees you." He gestured to one of the chairs Erica and Boyd had been sitting in during their card game the night before and Stiles eagerly accepted the invitation to rest. The hacker pushed the image of the weapon out of his mind for the moment, concentrating on Derek's words. "Why are you here?"

You. "Just ...you know, uh ...feeling rebellious?" At Derek's unimpressed expression he quickly continued. "I had ...a change of heart, I guess. I thought a lot about what you said last night and I ...think I can help you guys. I-" He swallowed, gaining control of his breathing. "I know what it's like to ...to feel powerless. To feel like no one's got your back."

The man was silent for a moment. "If you go any further with this, there's no going back."

"I know." Stiles tried for resolute, his lips pressed in a thin line. "I ...want to do this. I got your back."

Derek gave him a half-smile. "I appreciate it," he murmured, sending a shiver down the boy's back. "Come on, come have some breakfast while we get ready." He led Stiles to the small room he hadn't visited before, where sure enough a rudimentary kitchen had been installed. A few chairs and a small table were against a wall. Isaac and Boyd were eating what Stiles immediately identified as chocolate chip pancakes and the smell made his mouth water and also gave a little stab to his heart. Just like Mom used to make ...

Erica stood next to a cheap counter top, working an electric griddle where she poured batter into almost perfect circles. "Hey Stilinski," she grinned. "Hungry? There's also some orange juice on the table, freshly squeezed by yours truly, so help yourself."

"Thanks," he murmured though he made no move towards the others, leaning somewhat uncomfortably against the opposite wall. "Not really a breakfast kinda guy. Do uh ...do you always eat this well before you rob banks?"

"Actually no on both counts- this is our first bank so I thought we deserved a little pre-game treat." Erica laughed, flipping the cooking pancakes with ease. "We needed to stock up on some groceries anyway in case this all heads south, right boss man?"

Derek grunted at the mockery and poured a tall glass for himself, not noticing Stiles' eyes linger on the place where his lips touched the edges as he drank in a deep swallow.

"So," the hacker began nervously. "What's the plan?"

"How do we know he's not gonna fuck us over?" Stiles cringed as Boyd turned in his seat to glare at him directly while he voiced the question before anyone else could reply. "His dad's the Chief, probably got him wearing a wire or something-"

"Boyd!" Erica frowned at him, crossing her arms.

The man shrugged, stabbing a last bit of his breakfast with distaste. "I'm just saying, why should we trust him?"

"I trust him." Derek spoke firmly, his gaze scanning the room and looking each person straight in the eye as he spoke. "Is that good enough for everyone?"

"I don't-"  
"Yes. It is." Erica interrupted, glaring right back at her sullen boyfriend as Isaac gave a quick nod to the affirmative in the background. "If Derek trusts you, we trust you too."

"The plan," Derek began, arms folded in front of him. "Is pretty cut and dry. We've already primed the building on our earlier reconnaissance: Erica's disabled each panic button behind the counters already and Boyd's fixed smoke bombs throughout the bank."

Stiles nodded, chewing a knuckle as he listened. "For the escape portion, I take it?"

"I can trigger them by remote but they'll all go off at the same time." Boyd elaborated, hostility toned down a bit under Derek's watchful presence. "We just need to be sure we're ready to go when that happens."

"We're going in right before they open for the morning- not many people will be there. Erica will get us inside and then she'll help Isaac deal with the security deposit boxes while Boyd and I take the main vault."

Erica pouted as she leaned over, throwing her arms around Boyd's neck. "I feel like we're being kept apart, baby."

Derek rolled his eyes. "You work better when you're not distracted."

Yeah- that goes for me too. I feel like that might be a problem today. Stiles watched the exchange, amused at the banter that apparently took place before major heists. A thought popped into his head and shot out his mouth: "What are you going to do about the vault though?"

Each of them turned to look at him. "What do you mean?" Derek asked, nonchalantly throwing dishes in the sink as the gang got to their feet.

"Well," the hacker began nervously under his audience's attention. "You need two different keys. Harris- he's head of security, has one, Finstock has one, and ..." He hesitated briefly, not wanting to bring Lydia up as a potential target but reluctantly her name passed his lips. "The assistant manager has a third one- Lydia Martin."

Isaac looked thoughtful as they made their way downstairs, flicking on the basement lights as they descended. "Shouldn't be too hard, we only need two of those, right?"

"Yeah, but it's a time lock as well. Even if you have the keys, if it's not within a certain time the lock won't open."

Derek's intense eyes found his at the bottom of the steps. "What time is that, exactly?"

"Pretty sure the vault only opens twice a day. Once in the morning for an inventory, and once before they close for an end count." By Derek's expression, Stiles guessed it wasn't the answer he was looking for.

"We can't blow the doors?" Boyd questioned as he pulled on a dark jacket and gloves.

"No," Isaac replied, dressing himself in an identical get-up. "They're about two feet thick, designed to withstand heavy explosions. You'd probably just end up bringing the building down on us."

"That's right," Stiles nodded along. "You won't have long to mess around with it after you get there either. Those times are usually a short window when the vault can even be opened."

"How short a window are we talking here?" Erica asked, the only one not wearing black. She had dressed according to Kleiner Danson's dress code in hopes to fool security into letting them in. She's definitely pretty enough to blend in with them. A bag accompanied her full of similar clothing for them to change into during the escape, hopefully confusing any responders to the scene.

"Uh ...not long. Maybe ...ten or twenty minutes?" Stiles answered absently as he happily turned on his new best friend, a silent joy bubbling within him at the purring hard drives coming to life.

Boyd snorted harshly. "So we gotta find these assholes, grab their keys, get to the vault, figure out how to open it, in ...ten minutes? This isn't gonna work, Derek."

"It will." Derek spoke firmly but quietly, not looking at anyone as he shrugged on his leather jacket. Stiles felt a rush a fondness for the man, biting his lip as he watched him in the reflection in the monitor.

"Maybe we should postpone a few days or something." Erica suggested somewhat gently.

"No. No we can't." A note of finality had entered Derek's words, causing the others to look uneasily at each other. Apparently nobody else knows why today's so goddamn important either. "We'll figure it out, we can-"

Stiles had to interrupt, fidgeting with nervousness as he pitched his solution. "I can get into the surveillance systems and guide you guys through your radios. I'll be able to see where everyone is."

"Yeah, that would work." Isaac perked up. "There's an extra headset around here somewhere."

After a few seconds a lopsided smile bloomed on Derek's face, his eyes gleaming as Isaac rummaged through some boxes. "Alright. Alright, let's do this." He grabbed a canvas bundle from the corner of the room, letting it fall heavily to the table where he unwrapped it with a sharp flick of his wrist.

"Uh ..." Stiles scratched the back of his head, extremely uneasy at the set of weaponry Derek had revealed. No one else seemed particularly bothered, each selecting an identical pistol. He could tell they were police issue weapons thanks to his father's career.

Derek must have noticed his discomfort, speaking softly to him as he drew back the slide mechanism with a sharp click that made the hacker flinch. "What did you think we were going to rob them with, Stiles? Water pistols?"

"I guess I should've known that." He muttered. "Still, you're not gonna ...you know ..."

"Shoot anyone?"

Stiles nodded, wary of the answer he might receive.

"No. Not if we don't have to. We're not murderers."

"Just armed robbers." The words left his mouth before he knew what had happened. Erica and Boyd froze, everyone silent for a tense moment as Derek stared him down with a darkened gaze. Stiles' eyes had long since dropped to the floor, face burning, but he could feel the force of the glare despite the lack of eye contact.

"Yeah, we are." Derek's voice was deadly serious. "And I don't want anyone hurt in the crossfire with Argent, but if it can't be avoided I'll pull the trigger. I won't hesitate. If you don't understand what it means to have that conviction, I can't make sense of it for you. Just remember who we're up against and what they're capable of- Chris Argent and the people like him."

Stiles let out a little sigh. "Derek-"

"You want to back out? Now's your chance." The ice in his tone was unmistakable.

"No! No, I'm sorry. You're right." You can do this. Think how satisfying it'll be to defang someone like Argent. Daydreams of vigilantism with Derek, hunting down the Carsons and Argents of the world started to dance in his head. "I'm ready."

**************************************************

Stiles fitted the headset on awkwardly, fiddling with the speaker until it was a comfortable distance away from his mouth. "Testing ...testing ..." he joked nervously. "I feel like I should be a telemarketer with this thing."

"Just remember to say who you're talking to so you don't confuse anyone." Isaac reminded him. "And make sure you stay on the right frequency."

The hacker nodded. "Right, right. Lucky number thirteen?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

As Isaac went to join Erica and Boyd in the car out front, Stiles could see Derek coming closer in the monitors' reflections and tensed up. He wasn't quite sure where he stood with the man after their exchange moments earlier.

"Stiles?" The rumbling voice came from above his head where he sat, re-entering Kleiner Danson's systems with only a slight tremble in his fingers as he typed. "Thank you for doing this." Shit, wasn't expecting that. "I'll tell you when we're in position."

"N-no problem. Good luck." He choked out.

Derek gave no reply as his hand, hidden in a leather glove, dropped to his shoulder in a strong squeeze and then retreated with its owner. Stiles watched him leave in the screen, letting out a breath. "Guess we're cool after all."

"What are you babbling about now, Stilinski?" Erica's voice was tinny but clear in his ears and he realized with a blush he had the speaker button locked on and they could hear each other over the radio.

"Uh, nothing, Erica. Let me know when you're close, uh, over." He flicked the lock off so there wouldn't be any more accidental communication. Well that could've potentially been a lot more mortifying.

A crow came through the headset and he winced at the sound as if the girl had read his thoughts. "Oh, Stiles, you're too cute! You don't need to be all official. Do we get to keep him after this job, Derek?" A muffled reply that sounded suspiciously like a certain trademark grunt came over the radio in the background. "Talk to you soon, cutie. Over and out!" Another peal of laughter erupted and Stiles just shook his head to himself in the lonely building as the radio fuzz was cut off abruptly.

Hmm ...this might be a good opportunity to learn something about these guys actually. Stiles inched off his perch, eyeing the monitors that were slowly blinking surveillance feeds into existence. It'll take a little longer for it to load all these cameras anyway ...

He crept across the room towards the dividers that separated each person's personal space from the rest. Stiles peeked over and was disappointed and relieved at the same time to find each one nearly empty save spartan bedrolls. One had gratuitous magazine cut-outs of some boy band Stiles didn't recognize taped to the wall and he snorted, figuring it was Erica's space but imagining it was Boyd's amused him terribly.

The others were devoid of any further clues to their personalities but as he walked through the last one something caught his eye. A piece of crumpled paper stuck out from beneath a pillow, just barely visible. Stiles crouched down next to it and knew if he didn't look at it the curiosity would distract him for the rest of the day- if not his whole life. He carefully plucked it out and smoothed it over enough that he could see it clearly.

It was a photo cut out from a newspaper. It was a little blurry and hard to make out since it was riddled with deep creases, but a chill raced down the back of his neck as he recognized the subject. Among many people on the front steps of some building, Chris Argent was frozen mid-sentence and looking away from the camera. The caption read: **Mayoral candidate Chris Argent, wife Victoria Argent, and sister Kate Argent meet with the press on Gr-** A tear obscured the rest of the description but upon reading the last name Stiles' eyes flickered back to the faces, locating a woman who seemed to be aware of the photographer. She was staring directly at the camera, an attractive smile plastered on her face.  That must be Kate ...Geez, what a thing to keep under your pillow.

A buzz went off in his pocket, making him jump in surprise. He withdrew his phone and groaned at the number displayed on the screen.

"Yeah?" 

John Stilinski sighed upon hearing the brusque greeting from his son. "Stiles, can't you answer with a 'hi' or 'what's up?' or ...I don't know, anything remotely friendly?"

"Hello, Father. What can I do for you?" He over-enunciated with sarcasm, crinkling the paper back up and replacing the grim memento under what had to be Derek's pillow.

"You- Look, where are you?"

Ah shit, here we go. "Working. Why?"

A pause. "Another new posting?"

"Yeah, just started this morning. Look, I'm really busy though, I gotta-"

"Why are you lying to me, Stiles?" Fuck, that got derailed fast. "You never get a new client this fast. Now I'll ask one more time, where are you?" John's voice slipped into Bad Cop Mode as Stiles enjoyed mocking it, rough and seemingly glacial.

"Dad! Dad, cool it. It's sort of off the books I guess, just an odd job I picked up at the docks. Just some office work. It's pretty dull but I'm totally making a killing." He winced as his babbling lie contained a kernel of truth he hadn't meant to include.

John seemed to soften at Stiles' usage of a term he hadn't spoken in a long time. "Nothing seedy, right? You know what I do for a living."

"No! No way. Nothing seedy here. You know me, color inside the lines and all that." Nice save, me.

A hesitant chuckle came over the phone. "Sure. Right. Anyway, I was just thinking- the other night at the Mayor's wasn't really our sort of thing."

"That's a generous way to put it." The hacker quipped, playing with a stray thread in the bedspread as he spoke.

John huffed a laugh. "Very. How do you feel about coming over for dinner tomorrow? There's a game on tomorrow evening we could watch afterwards if you want ...?" The invitation felt like it had been cast out into deep space and floated through a black void.

"Uh ...we'll see. I'm pretty busy with this job and stuff, you know, saving for uni ..."

"Right, right," John conceded, the disappointment clear in his voice. "Well, it's good you're being responsible with your money, I suppose. Soon though, okay?"

"...Sure thing, I-

"STILINSKIIIIIII, WE'RE HEEEEEEEREE!"

"Stiles? Who is that? Goddamn, my ears are ringing ..."

"Uh, just- the tv, yeah, one of the guys just turned on a tv. Some dumb sitcom-

"COME ON, CUTIE PIIIEE! DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING."

"...A television show ...with our name in it?"

"I gotta go, Dad. Bye!" Stiles hung up in a panic, fingers searching for the talk button on his headset before Erica had the chance to somehow become louder. He took the stairs two at a time and almost crashed into the console in his haste. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you."

"We're here." Derek's voice spoke in his ear.

"How's it looking, Stilinski?" He could hear the excitement in Erica's voice.

"Fine, not many people around yet." His eyes scanned the monitors, locating the gang outside the building. The camera outside wasn't the best quality but he could tell something about the men looked strange. "...What are you guys wearing?" Animal faces ...?

"We took some of those masks from the Argent's ball the other night." Isaac informed him. "Thought they might be useful."

"I could've just erased all the footage afterwards you know."

Erica tittered. "Rookie mistake- what about the eye witnesses?"

"Good point." The hacker agreed, watching Erica approach the front doors while the rest lurked around the corner, beyond the vision of those inside the building.

"Any idea where the keyholders are?" Derek asked, the sounds of Erica's shoes loud against the front steps in the background.

"Uh, no, not yet. Let me see." Stiles scanned through the images, trying to make a mental note of which camera was which. The manager seemed to be half asleep, moving sluggishly around his office and examining some papers while he nursed a coffee. "Found Finstock, he's in his office."

"What about the others? Harris?"

"Could be upstairs. I only have a few feeds up there- mostly in hallways."

As if on cue, Lydia strolled into view on a screen, smartly dressed as ever and speaking to one of the few tellers present. Stiles' heart sank but he muttered a reluctant affirmative to her appearance anyway. "Lydia's in the teller booths."

"Good. Finstock and Lydia will be the easiest to get to then. Erica?"

Stiles watched as Erica sauntered to the door, knocking and waving at someone inside. On another feed he saw one of the security guards stifle a yawn as he approached, unlocking the door for her with no apparent question.

Erica was a blur on the screen, her hand flying out to strike the guard in the throat, toppling him with a smooth kick as the poor man gagged for breath.

"Remind me to never piss you off." Stiles muttered, receiving a blown kiss towards the camera as the other three quickly followed her inside. Isaac and Boyd re-locked the door and began drawing the massive shades that hung in the windows while Derek withdrew what Stiles guessed to be a zip tie and bound the guard's hands. "I'm going to see if I can find some sort of schedule or something- see what the exact time limit we're working with here." The keys clicked and clacked under his touch, a touch of adrenaline spiking in him at the quest for the hidden information.

"Good idea, let us know when you find something." The slight praise warmed him, spurred his fingers on faster. 'When' you find something- not 'if'. The hacker jumped a second later at the loud snarl of a command that was aimed at the scattered employees present in the lobby. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! NOW!" He watched in silence as the tellers and few guards quickly surrendered under the sights of four guns. They crouched down, hands over their heads in terror, and a pang of guilt struck him at the sight. Remember what this is for ...gotta break a few eggs, right?

The self assurances didn't do much to ease his mind. He could see the tellers frantically mashing their panic buttons, only Lydia seeming to quickly realize it was going to be a fruitless effort. He watched Derek and Boyd head offscreen to another viewpoint, reappearing as they examined the door leading to the vaults.

Boyd jiggled the handle experimentally but there was no manual lock to break through- each door was operated by means of the employees' electronic pass keys. Stiles mentioned as such to the man's annoyance. "Something else we need to worry about." The surly grumble that came over the radio seemed to imply it was somehow Stiles' fault. Really starting to get tired of this dude.

A moment later Stiles easily worked his way inside the door mechanisms, gaining access to the locking functions. I never realized before now what a mistake having all your shit run digitally is. He grinned at the screen as the little red light on the door flashed green as the barrier popped open. "You're welcome," he sassed, spinning around on his stool in victory.

"Good job, Stiles" Derek nodded at the camera. "Erica, you get the keys yet?"

"Getting there, Boss." Erica hissed over the speaker, accompanied by sounds of exertion.

Stiles scanned through the monitors, finding her fighting to open the door leading behind the teller booths. He saw she had already divested the guard that let them in of his passkey and had the door unlocked- the problem was while the tellers hid beneath their desks, Lydia was fighting tooth and nail on her own to keep the door closed. She had planted a heel on the wall next to the door and was pulling from the other side with all her strength. Watching the girls fight on opposite sides of the door gave him conflicted emotions- he wasn't really sure who he was rooting for. Finstock must be shitting himself in his office though, heh.

While the struggle ensued, he found what he was looking for: a set of documents concerning Kleiner Danson's policies and practices. While the files opened, Stiles kept one eye on the surveillance feeds, Erica had finally made her way through the door with Isaac's help.

A grunt of pain came through the radio. "You little bitch!"

"What happened?" He questioned, scanning through page after page of memos and unimportant messages.

"That whore just threw her shoes at me." Erica growled. Sure enough a shoe-less Lydia stood defiantly, hands in fists at her sides as she glared at the approaching criminals. Stiles felt strangely proud of the girl. Lydia ...what a bad ass. Here's hoping they don't hurt each other too bad ...Oh! Bingo.

"Hey, Derek?" Stiles typed away, highlighting portions of information. "You're a little early- you have about ten minutes to spare. At nine sharp the vault becomes open-able for fifteen minutes. There's something else I found though, you might want to know."

"What's that?" A note of intrigue entered the man's tone.

"There's some records here of money transfers? The Argents have sunk uh ...quite a bit of dough into property outside of town. Looks like a set of ...warehouses or some sort of storage out past the city limits? There's also expenses- a lot of them, listed as ..."renovation costs" for those deeds. Seems kinda weird, right?"

Derek was quiet a moment. "Interesting. Something to check out later. Erica, the key?"

Stiles looked back to see Lydia now bound and helpless like the rest of her colleagues, glaring at her assailants from the floor. Erica appeared to be twirling the key in front of her face while Isaac entered the room of security deposit boxes.

"Yep, got one."

"Hey, Stiles?" Isaac's voice crackled to life. "Any idea on a better way to open these without picking every single one? I'm good but it'll still take me an hour to get through them all."

More files opened before his greedy eyes as he searched for an answer. "Good question, give me one ...sec- here! Okay, there's a way to open them all at once for inventory purposes. You'll need Lydia's key, and there should be ...a keypad somewhere in the center of the room?" He watched as Isaac strode through, examining all sides of the center pillars. Columns upon columns of the steel boxes full of cash and other valuable items that waited to be plucked like ripe fruit.

"Found it."

"Okay," he nodded to the screen though Isaac couldn't see him. "The manager's code is zero, seven, seven, four, five, seven, three." He watched as Isaac stuck in the borrowed key and entered the numbers in, smirking as the echoing sound of the boxes clanging open filled his ears through Isaac's radio. Damn, I'm good.

"Going for Finstock's key." Erica informed them, moving quickly back into the lobby as Isaac began loading bags full of the loot they had gotten access to.

Stiles' eyes flickered back to the camera Derek and Boyd had been in but only Boyd was in the shot, looking around awkwardly and still standing in front of the giant vault doors. "Boyd? Where's Derek?"

A second passed where he thought he was going to be ignored. "No idea. He told me to stay put while he checked something out."

"...Alright." He replied, scanning through the cameras with a sense of unease but couldn't locate the man. The hacker was about to disregard the rest of the documents when something caught his eye. A folder containing itineraries for each day of the month was accessible and he quickly opened the current date hoping to find something useful. Hmm ...usual opening schedules, client appointments ...shareholder meeting? Stiles looked at the clock. Scheduled for ...half an hour ago? Shit that might get awkward if they don't grab that shit and get out of there.

Just as he was about to warn them the second floor was currently more occupied than they anticipated, Erica's confused voice came over the radio.

"Stilinski? Finstock's not in his office. Help a girl out?"

Sure enough, the manager's office was now empty. "One sec, let me look." He switched between the lobby cameras and the ones located near the offices but saw no sign of Finstock. The only movement he saw was Erica's slow, careful steps as she moved around the corners, pistol at the ready.

"Where the hell did he go?" As she turned away from the offices back towards the lobby, Stiles saw Finstock creep out from under a desk. What's that he's holding ...?

"Erica! Erica, get behind cover! Now!" He all but yelled through the microphone, wincing at the painful reverberations the volume of his voice had caused.

Without question, Erica immediately lunged behind a thick marble pillar, a cloud of dust erupting from the floor where she had been standing seconds before. From his vantage point, Stiles could see Finstock must have spent the moments since the beginning of the robbery readying a shotgun that he cocked and primed for another shot. He was gesturing wildly with it, yelling something Stiles couldn't hear. Probably something to the effect of 'nobody robs my goddamn bank!'. Yeah that sounds about right.

"What the fuck's going on?" Boyd demanded, moving down the hall towards the loud boom that must have came from the lobby. In the other monitor Isaac had paused in his gathering, looking towards the door with apprehension.

"That crazy old bastard's got a gun, that's what's going on." Erica groaned. "He almost blew me away but Stilinski gave me a heads up, so to speak- thanks for that, by the way."

"No problem," Stiles muttered, hands clenched nervously as Finstock took another shot at the pillar Erica was hiding behind, blowing a chunk clean off in a shower of chips.

"Damsel in distress here, boys. I'm pinned down, and not in a good way."

"On my way." Boyd huffed as he ran down the hallway, gun at the ready.

Stiles was distracted for a second by some movement in a second floor camera- an older man in a suit poked his head out of a room, followed by several other people filing into the hall. Must have heard the commotion downstairs ...shit, this isn't good. "Derek? Are you there?" No reply. "Listen, we've got another problem. There's some sort of meeting going on upstairs and I think they just figured out they're being robbed. They're probably calling the police right now."

"What a fabulous yet poorly-planned out job this is turning out to be," Erica muttered. "Where the hell is Derek?"

"Not sure, can't see him anywhere." Stiles murmured back. He watched a few of the people upstairs running down the hall- he assumed to the nearest exit. Through another feed he cycled through, he saw a number of men in uniform sprawled in a heap, unconscious or so he hoped. Guess that's Harris and the rest of security. Derek took them all down by himself?

In the other monitor, Boyd and Erica had put Finstock on the defensive, firing at each other from behind various cover. Stiles could hear broken portions of the gun fight every time his earpiece buzzed to life.

"Everyone doing okay?" Isaac asked nervously, dragging heavy canvas bags to the front of the deposit box room.

"Just peachy." Erica replied dryly. "Hey, Stilinski, how much time do we have before we can't open the vault and this train really goes to shitsville?"

Stiles swallowed. "Uh, well it's openable for another ...nine minutes."

"Great, a one-way ticket, please. Hah! Take that!" The girl crowed as Boyd got a lucky shot in, hitting Finstock square in the chest.

Stiles watched as the manager lost his grip on his weapon, the shotgun falling harmlessly to the floor. A second later Finstock followed it, falling to his knees and holding his wound. Even through the camera, Stiles could see the thin rivulets of blood stream through his fingers. A wave of nausea rolled through him. Oh fucking Christ. Oh fuck. Fuck, where are you, Derek?

As they cautiously approached Finstock's prone form, Boyd kicking away the shotgun and Erica digging in his pockets for his key, Stiles saw movement in the upstairs cameras once more. Apparently not all of the people had made it to safety- a woman stepped out into the hallway, looking down each way. As she turned towards the camera, Stiles felt like he had suddenly been submerged in cold water as he recognized her from his earlier snooping. It's Kate Argent ...oh my god, of course an Argent would be at a shareholder meeting- they own the goddamn bank. A second realization hit him as Derek suddenly appeared in the same frame. Derek knew she'd be here ...that's why it was so important to do this today. He knew.

Kate must have seen Derek too, because she took off running down the hall in the opposite direction, long brown hair streaming behind her. Derek raised his arm, firing haphazardly as he strode towards her with terrible purpose. All of the shots seemed to miss, creating small holes in the surrounding walls but he didn't seem concerned about his lack of accuracy. Somehow, Stiles knew if he wanted to shoot her, he could have easily done it. No, he's messing with her ...he's letting her think she has a chance to get away.

Stiles followed on camera, a budding dread taking root in his guts as through another viewpoint, Derek pursued Kate around the corner where she was frantically trying to find something in her purse. She looked up every few seconds, probably terrified by now at Derek's slow, unhurried approach. The man raised his pistol again, and Stiles flinched thinking he was about to be a reluctant witness to a murder- no, an execution, when ...nothing happened. Did he run out of bullets?

Apparently that was the case as Derek discarded the pistol to the side. To Stiles' horror, he then smashed open a glass case on the wall with an elbow and withdrew a large fire axe that he gripped with two hands. Holy fucking shit, Derek's gone all Jack Torrance.

Luckily, Kate had fished out a passkey and used it to open one of the conference rooms at the end of the hall. It was one of the larger ones and apparently the only to have its own security camera much to Stiles' relief. He could see her back away from the door once she shut it behind her, cell phone in hand and dialling quickly.

In the other monitor, Derek seemed unfazed. Stiles knew why a couple seconds later when he withdrew his own passkey, probably taken from Harris, and walked slowly towards the door. Oh no ...

In a fit of panic, Stiles opened up the door controls and quickly tried to find which room Kate had trapped herself in. Derek continued his advance, seeming to savor the grim moment. Come on, come on, 'Conference Room A', where are you ... Finding it in the nick of time, just as Derek was about to slide his key through, Stiles deactivated all passkeys for the lock. He watched with held breath as Derek swiped the now useless key repeatedly, hoping he would just give up and rejoin the others. Maybe-

"Stiles. What the fuck are you doing?" Derek's tone was conversational, not at all like he was about to butcher a woman with an axe.

The dread and panic made his whole body shake- he held onto the edge of the console to try and steady himself.

"Open the door, Stiles."

"Derek, you can't, you said-"

"What the hell are you guys on about?" Erica demanded testily. "You're making no sense. We got what we came for- time to go!"

"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR."

A whine of feedback sent pain through his eardrums. "You can't ..." he whispered to no one, watching Derek viciously slam the axe into the door a few times before throwing it at the door in disgust when the sturdy material held under the blows.

"Derek!" Isaac breathed out heavily. Stiles could see Boyd helping him, both freshly changed, carry the bags heavy with money to the side entrance where Erica waited in their car. "The cops are here, we have to go!"

The surveillance feeds flashed white, almost blinding him before fading to a roiling grey as Boyd detonated the smoke bombs. Stiles imagined that as with the jewelry store, it looked like the building was going up in flames at the moment. He sat back in the stool, trembling as he disconnected from the bank ports with shaking hands. One by one, each screen blinked off and he was left staring numbly at nothing. It wasn't entirely clear to him in the moment, but he felt as though he had just either helped or hindered some sort of twisted justice. You made a call that wasn't yours to make, his inner thoughts accused. In the blackened monitors, an expression of conflicted misery was reflected back at him several times over as he waited to see if the others would return safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway there! I'll keep trying for weekly updates but I have a feeling the last seven chapters are going to quite large in length. Hopefully they'll be worth the wait if I fall behind, haha. Thanks for reading, comments are love!


	8. Children Of Cain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sacrifice won't suffice  
> resurrection needs your death  
> to happen twice  
> fall on my heart  
> and burn and forge  
> your tortured black-smitten  
> into the sharpest sword
> 
> (i'm choking)

Stiles paced back and forth incessantly. He turned on the television to give himself some distraction but turned it back off with irritation moments later. Every few seconds he glanced at the clock on his phone, envisioning the probable route they were taking in his head and trying to guess at their current location. Visions of roadblocks, high speed chases leading to an inevitable crash, shoot outs with the police that were in pursuit spilled into his head.

The scattered worries pushed him to snatch up the remote again, searching for any sort of currently breaking news. The only live cast he found simply informed him what he already knew- an apparent robbery leaving Kleiner Danson up in smoke. No word was given on possible suspects or any sort of clue as to the thieves' identities. He breathed out a sigh of relief at that small mercy. They're probably not speeding down the streets, dummy, like 'yeah that's us, we robbed the bank, right here'. Chill out.

The other anxiety playing on the Stiles' mind was what sort of confrontation he was bound to have with Derek. His stomach dropped further at the thought, already knowing it wasn't going to be a pleasant interaction by any means. Over and over, he tried to debate himself on what had just happened. He was going to chop her up with a fucking ax, that's what just happened. This was ...some insane shit and not what I signed up for. ...But she killed his entire family in one go, her life for theirs seems like a more than fair deal. Stiles held his head tightly as he continued his pacing, trying to settle on one side or the other before Derek got there. He could've ...I don't know- found evidence or something, left her to the police. Yeah, because the justice system is perfect and never failed anyone before. Especially with the proper connections, or rather disruptions, it-

The front door opened with enough force to bang startlingly loud against the wall as Boyd thundered through the door with Erica in tow and Isaac close behind, two bags slung over his shoulder.

"Wha-" The breath left him in a rush as Boyd moved faster than he thought was possible, scooping him up into a crushing bear hug. As Stiles wheezed, too focused on filling his lungs with oxygen to freak out too much at the sudden contact, Isaac snickered quietly behind them. As fast as it had started, Boyd released him with a nod, eyes brimming with emotion not previously displayed. Wordlessly, he headed towards the basement steps without any explanation of his strange behaviour.

"That was a genuine Boyd Thank You," the girl explained wryly with a weak smile, replacing her boyfriend's place with a much gentler grip. "You really saved my hide today."

Stiles could feel himself turning red, going limp in Erica's grip as he stammered. "N-no problem, really. Least I could do."

"I- both of us," she corrected herself with a little sigh and shake of her head. " ...Thanks, Stilinski. I better go see how he's doing. Boyd likes to act tough but he's really upset about shooting the guy."

Stiles nodded as Erica followed her significant other downstairs, leaving the hacker alone with Isaac- a fact he realized with a paralyzing shock. "Where's Derek?"

Isaac shrugged, mouth set in a frown. "We're not sure. He didn't leave with us." At Stiles' unknowingly distraught expression he hastily added, "It's happened before, don't worry. No big deal."

"If you say so." The hacker muttered, a quiet cloud of dread still hanging over him.

"He disappears sometimes after a job. Does his own thing, I guess." Isaac fished around in his pockets, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes and studying the contents. "You want a smoke break before we bring the rest of the spoils in?"

"Yeah, sure." He'll be back ...On the bright side, more time to figure out what the hell I'm going to say. 'Sorry for stopping you from chopping the lady you think killed your family into little pieces. My bad, man.' Oh god, I'm fucked.

**************************************************

The sky was overcast with dark grey clouds that threatened to burst open with rain. The water lapped hungrily at the shore, angry and tumultuous beneath them. It all made for a moody atmosphere, one that made Stiles' nerves hum in anticipation. The black car the others had escaped in was half-hidden, parked between the office building and some large metal structures Stiles guessed to be the oil tanks they used for power.

"What are you going to do with your cut?" Isaac asked, lighting a smoke and passing it to the other boy.

"My ...cut?" Stiles frowned. "I'm not sure, how uh, how much is that, exactly?"

Isaac puffed away thoughtfully. "Well, we almost cleared out the whole vault so probably upwards of ...fifty grand? Maybe a little more? Derek'll probably let you take more if you want it- we would've been fucked without you."

Fifty grand ...in cash. Holy shit. I seriously doubt that's going to happen now anyway but ... "So," Stiles exhaled a cloud of smoke as he changed the subject, hardly visible as it rose against the horizon behind him. "The great escape went off without a hitch?" He coughed, drumming his fingers against the railing he leaned against.  
Isaac looked out over the water as he spoke. "Yeah, I guess. It was pretty clean as far as getaways go. No one was in the street we got out on, so we just turned into traffic and nobody seemed to notice anything. How were things on your end?"

Derek's furious voice repeated in his thoughts. "It was cool- I'm cool." He became aware of Isaac watching his tapping fingers and stilled the nervous gesture self-consciously. "It was pretty intense- not gonna lie, what with Erica almost ...and Derek missing-"

"I'm right here."

Oh fuck.

No one said anything for a moment. Stiles felt frozen, his hands stuck to the railing where the cigarette he held burned on unchecked, slowly turning into a stick of pale ash. Isaac nodded at Derek in greeting though with some inscrutable expression that seemed to go ignored as Derek's gaze focused solely on Stiles. The hacker noted this briefly before he started to find the knots in the wood under their feet somehow fascinating enough to capture his attention.

"Stiles."

He forced himself to look up at the quiet, firm intonation of his name, only to meet a blank slate of a face that offered no clue to its owner's thoughts. "Hey ...uh ..." His heart beat wildly against his ribs, almost drowning out his own words and the sounds of the choppy water. "I ...gotta go, I'm s-sorry." Stiles started to back up towards the steps, ready to turn and start running.

Derek raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed. "What about your money?"

"That's- I don't need it, it's fine. We're even now, for ...you know, the alley and stuff." He muttered his last words, shifting his weight uneasily as Isaac looked on, confused by the exchange.

"Your bag is still inside."

"Oh ...uh ...that's-" Shit. He debated for a few seconds on just leaving it, so strong was the urge to avoid the confrontation he just knew was around the corner and lurking behind Derek's calm facade. That's like half the clothes I own ...not to mention a few of my adapters ... "I'll just run in and grab that."

True to his word, the hacker all but ran back inside, the blood pumping with a seemingly audible throb in his temples. Where the hell did I put that? The image of an ax-wielding Derek flashed in his mind and a low sound of fear came involuntarily from him. It must be still in the kitchen.

Sure enough, the bag was there though not exactly where he had remembered discarding it. Rather than next to the door where he had awkwardly stood earlier upon his arrival, his bag was on the counter on the opposite side of the small kitchen. Just grab your shit and get out, it'll take ten seconds.

Stiles' fingers brushed the canvas straps when he heard the door close behind him with a creak of terrible finality. The lock gave a quiet click that thundered in his ears as it was turned-

-The lock clicked as it shut, the knob cold against his sweating palms. He couldn't stop the trembling- his body had surrendered any sense of control he used to have over it. It had been a couple days since he had eaten and the jittering movement was a given. He turned slowly, even that movement blurring the room at the edges with dizziness.

He had fought. Back in the basement, at the beginning of his 'sentence' as it was called, he was resolute, unyielding in his rebellion. They had given him bits and scraps and he had spurned them until they stopped leaving him anything at all. Now that he was hungry, there was little satisfaction to be had from that small piece of control. He was starving, and he knew whatever the doctor asked of him, he would obey if only to placate the incessant gnawing pains that had started in his stomach.

"Are you quite finished now, Mr. Stilinski? You know I derive no pleasure from these punishments you insist on inflicting on yourself."

He didn't reply anymore. Four months in, the fight had left him, slowly drained out, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed and broke completely, the-

-The panic attack rose in a cresting wave, the tears that came with it hot and streaming down Stiles' face through the eyes he shut tightly in vain. Distantly he felt a cool pressure and fought for enough lucidity to realize a pair of dry, chapped lips were being pressed gently to his own.

They tasted the trails of salty wetness that trickled down between them and didn't pull away. He opened his eyes in shock, staring into the oceans of pale green that swallowed his vision. The tsunami of anxiety came to a jarring halt, a flash-freeze of surprise accompanying the unexpected kiss.

The counter dug painfully into Stiles' back, but he couldn't bring himself to move as the sensation of Derek's lips against his own carried on. Their mouths connected only a moment longer, the other man's warm tongue swiping over his bottom lip briefly as they parted in a gasping surprise.

"Wha-"

"Are you alright now?" It was a soft, murmuring question that covered the hacker's shaking shoulders like a blanket. The larger man loomed over him, arms boxing him in on either side. It was somehow sheltering rather than oppressive and claustrophobic like he usually came to expect from the very idea of being so close to someone else..

"I'm- I mean- I ..." He's so close ...I can feel the heat coming off of him. Stiles shook his head, at a loss for words as he mumbled the broken sentences. "I need ...a sec to ...recover from- from whatever that was ...that just happened."

Derek let out a low chuckle as he studied the hacker, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Maybe later I'll give you another reminder of what just happened." Yes fucking please. Wait, wait, what about ...Kate? "Speaking of which ..."

Oh shit, here we go ... "Hey, yeah ...about what went on at the bank earlier ..." Stiles almost whispered, starting to fear he was going to ruin the strange but wonderful moment or that it was some elaborate ruse to lure him into a false sense of security.

"What about it? It went perfectly." The other man replied, unconcerned and muffled as he buried his face into the side of Stiles' neck. He gave a pleased hum at Stiles' breathy sigh as his lips brushed the inked skin, tracing the designs with his warmed mouth. "I got you something."

What the fuck is going on? Stiles questioned Derek's bizarre calm and his abrupt change of subject, his brain struggling between the feelings his previous anxiety had left behind and the buzzing teases of pleasure he was now experiencing. "You what?"

Derek pulled away, a flicker of disappointment in Stiles replaced with intrigue at the small smirk on the man's face. "You did good today, so I picked you up a little something."

"Wait, hold on now. You risked getting arrested for armed robbery and probably a dozen other things to get me ...?"

"This." Derek produced a small box from his back pocket like magic, brandishing it with a sly look before presenting the gift with a glint of anticipation in his eyes. "Go on, open it."

Stiles shook his head, puzzled but bemused at the unexpected situation. He took the box in his hands, a faint tremor still running through them as he pried open the top. Inside was a small flash drive resting in a black foam cushion: simple but obviously an expensive model. Its luxury status was confirmed by the reassuring weight in his palm and the storage capacity written on the back. Stiles read the words with widened eyes as he turned it around in his hand. "A terabyte?! Holy shit, Derek! I- I, I can't take this, this thing must have cost a fortune!"

Derek grinned roguishly. "It was free, actually. And you can take it- I insist." Somewhere, someone is really pissed this thing is missing- at least they should be.

"I- Wow, just ...wow. Th-thank you. Thank you so much." He placed the device reverently back inside its box before pocketing the gift, stunned at the small treasure that was now his. Pretty sweet, expect to get axed, get a present instead. Who knew.

"You like it?"

Stiles nodded in a daze, absently babbling as he was already running through all the programs and special creations he was going to make good use of now that he had a theoretically limitless way to archive everything he made. Hard to keep track of your own shit when there's no way to access it on a regular basis. "I do ...it's probably the best present I've ever gotten for, well for anything I guess, I might be forgetting something but it's definitely in the top ten- no, top three, top-"

"Do you like me?"

Stiles blinked, unsure if he had heard the question correctly. "I ...I just met you." He answered slowly under an expectant stare that seemed to slowly lose any sort of emotion.

"Yes ...you did." Derek looked at him with a furrowed brow, an expression of confusion fleeting across his features as if puzzled by the statement. I think I'm cracking up or something. No, he definitely just asked me that. I know he did. I'm pretty sure he did, anyway. "Come get your cut and I'll drive you back to your apartment." He took Stiles' hand, warm and covering it completely in his own and leading him back to the main room, the previous plan of escape forgotten in the kiss and strange conversation.

**************************************************

Erica and Boyd had rejoined them, both looking happier and sitting at the table with Isaac and empty canvas bags strewn around their chairs. Bundles of bills made up the largest pile of money Stiles had ever seen in his life, sorted into teetering towers that stretched towards the low ceiling.

"This is for you, Stilinski." Erica gestured to the group of stacks nearest him.

"Ah." Another stunning, intellectual response by me. Stiles found a bundle of hundred dollar bills pressed into his hands as he took a seat, by far the most money he'd ever had- let alone physically held, at once. Quietly stunned at the windfall, he looked to the others, all methodically sorting and noticed the objects crowning Erica's pile. "Erica, are those ...?"

The girl gathered the stylish pumps that were on Lydia's feet earlier in the day to her chest protectively. "If she wanted them that bad she shouldn't have thrown them at me. It's only fair."

A snort came from Isaac or Boyd, Stiles couldn't tell.

"Hey!" Erica glared. "We're even the same size- you can't tell me that isn't an apology from fate or the universe or whatever for nearly blowing my head off."

"I think you might be reading a little too much into it." Isaac quipped dryly.

"Anything on the news?" Derek interrupted the potential argument, his hand grazing Stiles' as he leaned against the side of the table.

Boyd searched for the remote, digging for it under some loose bills where it had been covered and switched on the television. Everyone quieting down as he found the proper channel and turned the volume up a few notches.

"-strong police presence this afternoon in downtown Beacon City. Kleiner Danson, Beacon City's largest bank was robbed at gunpoint early this morning before the business had opened for the day. B.P.D officials have already begun interviewing employees and other witnesses present at the crime scene. There have been no casualties as of yet, though we can confirm that Branch Manager Robert Finstock is still in critical condition after-"

"Good." Erica muttered with narrowed eyes, holding Boyd's hand as it rested on the table top.

"-Mayor Argent has declined any comment as of now. A statement released by his office acknowledges the robbery as the latest in a wave of what they refer to as 'localized terrorism' inflicted on the citizens of Beacon City and urges the public to assist law enforcement in 'bringing the guilty to justice'. Police have also been searching for a possible suspect implicated by an as of yet anonymous tip, Chief John Stilinski's own son,-"

The newscaster kept talking, her perfect teeth flashing as she spoke but the words weren't being processed by Stiles' brain. His own image, a couple years old and sullenly staring into the camera, was displayed on the screen. A number below it was given to call in case of information or sightings.

"-apparently had been working at Beacon City's oldest bank for the past three weeks. Police are urging the public to come forward with any information on his whereabouts."

"Well ...that's a real bummer, Stilinski." Erica murmured as Stiles swallowed the lump forming in his throat, numbly letting the bundled bills he still held hit the floor with a near silent thump. Oh my god how did I not see this happening? Oh my god.

"It's okay," Isaac started slowly but the hacker wasn't having any of it.

"It's not fucking okay!" Stiles cried as he hugged his arms tight to his chest, getting strung out from the emotional ups and downs. "I'm a fucking fugitive!" He felt Derek's hand brush his arm, the quiet assurance of his voice as he motioned for Boyd to hand him the remote.

After the other man complied he muted the news report which had started to reiterate the entire report from the beginning. "They just want to question you, you're not actually wanted- yet."-

-"Please state your name and age for the record."

"G- Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. I'm sixteen." He managed to speak without any stuttering. His father and Doctor Wells gave him matching smiles, his father's weakened by the obvious anger the man was radiating. The lawyer defending Carson smiled coolly, her posture relaxed and confident in a sharp black suit.

"Thank you, Stiles. Can you tell us where you were on Thursday, July 16th of last year?"

John's mouth became a tight line as the memory came back to his son. "That was the day my dad brought me to ...to El-Elmond House."

"Why exactly did he take you there?"

"Your Honor, I object to this line of questioning. My client's history as a young offender has little to do with the charges laid out today." The prosecutor scribbled furiously as he spoke.

"I'll allow it." The dry, bored voice of the Judge echoed throughout the room.

"Why did he take you there, Stiles?"

"I ..." Carson watched him openly, smiling and he was right back in the cell, naked and cowering as Carson stood over him with that same sadistic grin. He tried to focus like Doctor Wells taught him but the memories were potent with Carson and the rest of the court room all looking at him. What seemed like bad dreams, nightmares, came to life under the harsh lights above him. He started to hyper ventilate, gripping the sides of the witness box so tight his hands began to go numb.

"Your honor," the prosecutor frowned. "Doctor Wells has already advised the court on the matter of my client's current state of mind and accompanying disorders- he can't possibly answer these questions to the best of his ability when Mr. Carson is gloating across the room at him."

"I object- the prosecution will find that this is the defense's witness at the moment and would do well to respect that."

The judge called for order, a muttering rolling through the crowd as the lawyers argued.

"I deserved it," Stiles whispered though no one in the room heard it. He looked up with dread in his heart and Carson smiled, nodded at him slowly as he read the boy's lips.-

In the midst of his attack, he could feel Derek leading him towards the front door, perhaps for some fresh air but he turned abruptly towards the basement of all places. Outside now felt uncertain and strange- he would rather deal with any claustrophobia that cropped up over the feeling of a whole city searching for him. He could hear the footsteps mirroring his on the steps and he muttered a protest. "You don't have to come with me."

"You don't have to be alone." Derek's rebuttal warmed him, even as his phone started to vibrate in his pocket and a fresh stabbing fear ripped into him.

Stiles fumbled for the small device, taking a sharp breath even as he already knew who would be calling. "It's my Dad. It's my Dad, what do I do?" He looked to Derek, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs with a hint of sympathy in his eyes, etched in the lines of his face.

"Answer it," the man suggested gently, taking a seat on the bottom step to survey Stiles' pacing form.

"Oh my god. Oh- okay. Okay." He dragged a shaky finger across the screen, hearing the muddled background of what had to be the police station come through: voices using curt tones and phones ringing over them. "D-Dad?"

"What the hell is going on, Stiles?" Bad Cop Mode already, not a good sign.

"Dad, it's not what it looks like. I know that's a super cliche thing to say and usually reserved for ironic purposes but I really mean it-"

"Here's what it looks like from my end: I'm seeing your face on my tv, on every news program." The Chief's voice rumbled angrily into his ear. "And now an arrest warrant for my own son is passing over my desk for signature."

Stiles looked to Derek with wide eyes, trying to figure out a proper response but there didn't seem to be a good one. "It's a misunderstanding, that's all."

"A misunderstanding?" John sounded incredulous. "Help me understand, then. Tell me how you aren't involved in what went on at that bank today, Stiles. Where are you? What sort of job are you doing?" There was an awkward pause where Stiles had no idea what to say, his panic rendering his mouth dry and speechless. A new line of thought seemed to develop for the Chief. "Are you a...are they making you do this?"

He could tell by the way Derek tensed up the man had heard the question. "No! Dad, no one's making me do anything. I told you, it's just a mix up. I'm fine." I'm a vigilante of my own free will, the son you always wanted, right?

"Then where are you? I'll come get you and we'll clear this all up."

Stiles hesitated. And here's where the chips come down, I guess. "I ...can't do that, Dad. Just trust me! It'll be okay."

"Stiles, that's not an acceptable answer!" John's anger seemed to return in full force. "I'm not asking again, where-"

Derek plucked the phone from the hacker's long fingers and listened to the angry buzzing of the Chief for a second before ending the call.

Stiles gaped, snatching the phone back and stared at his distraught reflection in the black screen. "Derek! What the hell was that?!"

The man shrugged. "He was just going to get angrier until you gave in." He seemed to consider a thought and asked in a cautious tone, "You wouldn't have told him where we were though, would you?"

"No! No, of course not. " Stiles sighed, turning the phone in his hands nervously. "Hanging up on him isn't going to help me though."

"Just give him time to calm down. He'll hear you out eventually." Derek's eyes roved over him. "Besides, you need some time to do that too."

"Keep calm and carry on, my ass. God, what a clusterfuck." The hacker muttered, stubbornly holding back tears of frustration. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Derek's lip curled up a degree. "Stay the night?"

**************************************************

"No, no, tell Stilinski the one about the time we broke into those hotel rooms." Erica demanded with a peal of laughter and taking a swig of her beer. "That one's way funnier."

Isaac squirmed with a groan under his cohort's identical grins, even Derek smirking at the suggestion. It was an intriguing experience for Stiles to not be the token embarrassed one in the room and he leaned forward, eagerly listening. "I don't think it's that's funny ..."

Boyd snorted, the closest the hacker had seen to a laugh.

"Don't be silly, it's hilarious." Erica pouted. "I'll tell Stilinski then if you won't- I tell it much better anyway," she confided in him in a mock whisper.

"Alright, let's hear it." Stiles grinned, Isaac taking a generous swallow of his drink as he pretended not to listen.

"Well," Erica began with a loud clap. "One of the first jobs we all did together was ...hmm, what was the occasion again?"

"Erica Reyes, ladies and gentlemen: master storyteller."

"Last election gala." Boyd supplied in a helpful rumble.

"Shut up, Isaac. Thank you, baby." Erica glared at a smirking Isaac as she gave her man a quick peck on the forehead. "Where was I? The Mayor before Argent, whatshisname, doesn't matter- anyway, he had this really impressive party to commemorate his win into office. It was a big deal, even when you compare it to those ridiculous things Argent throws now."

Stiles nodded, smiling and sipping his own beer tentatively.

"So he invites all his rich friends to stay in the city, rents out the entire hotel for them- can you believe that? And there we were, the four of us newly minted employees expected to clean all those rooms in a single night."

Erica had said that last part with a sly grin that Stiles returned. "Ah, I bet you cleaned them out til they were spotless, right, Cat Woman?"

"Give Stilinski a gold star," Erica laughed. "So we split up, Scooby-Doo style and each of us are taking different floors whiles the guests got subjected to the most tedious thing you've ever-"

"That was a really, really boring speech. We could hear it from the courtyard-"

"Lahey, are you gonna let me tell this story or not?"

"Sorry, sorry." Isaac muttered.

Erica sighed dramatically and held up her hands in a 'what can you do?' gesture. "It was the longest, driest thing I've ever heard. Derek almost fell asleep in one of the beds, he was so bored."

The man in question rolled his eyes and offered no comment.

"Anyway, poor Isaac is going through some old bag's things and finds this really hideous number in her room- this ...dress that's all studded with diamonds and stuff, right? So he's busy popping them off with this cute little knife he used to carry around when he hears the old couple coming down the hall. Guess they were too frisky to wait for the speech to be over and wanted some ...privacy."

"Oh no," Stiles gave a little groaning laugh. "I can see where this is going."

Erica grinned delightedly. "Oh, it went there. Believe me, it was a passionate affair, right out of a porno and ...where were you during all that, anyway? I forget."

Isaac mumbled something into his bottle.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Under the bed." The tips of the boy's ears went a pale pink.

"That's it, under the bed." Erica giggled. "So, an hour later the casanova and his lady friend are asleep and we're all downstairs in the car, wondering where the hell Lahey is. He finally radios, says he got held up and he'll be down in a minute."

"That's not the rest of the story, is it?"

"Oh ho ho, not quite, Stilinski."

"Why does Stiles get to interrupt and I don't?"

"Because he's adorable and enjoys my stories."

"He won't once there's a few about him."

"Stop sulking, Lahey. It's not attractive."

I am suddenly in a sitcom. Stile thought with a happy, slightly buzzed glow. "What happened next?"

"Let me tell you!" Erica's eyes sparkled with mirth. "So he decides it's too risky to keep de-jewelling the monstrosity there in the room, thinks 'screw it' and he just takes the whole thing with him. He creeps out of the room, this ugly maroon thing under his arm, and realizes the speech is over- the guests are returning to their rooms before the party. Then," she paused to let out a giggle. "He gets the best idea he's ever had."

Isaac muttered in the background as Boyd smiled down into his beer at the tale.

"There's this chute in the wall, for garbage, okay? So he thinks he's gonna just slide down like ... like ...-"

"Indiana Jones." Boyd murmured with a grin.

Erica positively shrieked with laughter, slapping the table. The sound of her joy is infectious and Stiles found himself holding back his snickering, not even at the end of the story yet. "Yes! Yes, like Indiana Jones or some shit and get out of there with the treasure. So he opens the thing, shoves the dress in, and jumps in after it."

"Uh-oh," Stiles looked over to Derek, sharing a quiet, somehow private smile that sent a brief stutter to his heart beat.

"He got about, what? Two feet in? His pants got caught on the lip and he's suspended in this garbage chute, radioing us with all this stuff like 'I'm stuck! I'm stuck!' so Derek goes up to rescue him but he didn't reach him in time- gravity saved him instead." Erica swallowed the last dregs of her drink. "So we're all in the car, ready to go, and the door to the kitchens opens, and- and-" she struggled to keep from laughing and finish the story. "Lahey bursts out wearing this ugly, diamond-studded dress- I swear to God, his face matched it exactly, and the first thing Derek here says is 'why are you wearing a dress?' and Lahey just hisses, 'the garbage chute ate my pants.'!" Erica's impressions of Derek and Isaac were greatly exaggerated but hilariously dead-on.

The room echoed with laughter, Stiles gasping from the image Erica so vividly painted. Erica wiped the tears from her eyes, giving Isaac an affectionate nudge.

"Oh my god, it made no sense at the time but it was so funny. You know I only retell that story with love, right?"

"Definitely." Isaac rolled his eyes but returned the smile.

They had passed the afternoon and most of the evening away like that- laughing, telling stories, and sorting through the items Isaac had taken from the security deposit boxes. It was jewelry, more cash, and other valuable trinkets for the most part. Stiles had eyed with a quiet guilt the small pile of things that were obviously held only personal value: photographs, an engraved brass watch. It's about sending a message ...if you don't understand what it means to have that conviction, I can't make sense of it for you ... Derek's words repeated in his head as the hours passed.

"Night, boys." Erica stretched and rose with a wide yawn that closed to a smile. "It's been fun but I need my beauty sleep." Her hand found Boyd's and the two of them went downstairs to their 'rooms' as they were after a quiet round of 'good night's.

Stiles looked up from the television, surprised to see how late it was. He had insisted on keeping the news on throughout the day, monitoring for any signs of developments in the search for them even as they relaxed.

"You can take my bedroll if you want it." Isaac offered with a yawn probably brought on by Erica's. "I can sleep up here in a chair or something."

Stiles shook his head and waved the other boy off. "Nah, it's cool. I'm not really tired." He rubbed at his bleary eyes, watching the weather report. Rain, rain, rain.

"Alright, if you're sure. Night."

"Night." He flicked through the channels wearily, eyes heavy and starting to ache as Isaac left to join the others. Without them, the room felt large and empty, lacking in energy. Stiles dragged the blanket Derek had handed him earlier closer around him, starting to fall asleep where he sat perched on the edge of his chair.

"You should go to bed. It's been a long day for you too."

Stiles jumped, heart racing at the sound. He had forgotten Derek was even still with him. The man had been quiet most of the day, sitting in a corner seat and watching them divide money and argue good-naturedly. Watching you. The thought rang true- Derek had been watching him closely as well. Maybe trying to see if you'll crack and call Daddy for help. It was true even he was starting to get used to the constant presence, found it had begun to feel comforting, familiar if he was being completely honest.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Through squinted eyes Stiles could see the slight smirk. Smouldering or smiley? I can't decide what I like better. ...Both.

"'S' okay," he stifled the yawn creeping up on him. "Used to it."

"What's that?"

The hacker smiled wryly, rubbing his eyes. "Being scared. I was just thinking, trying to decide what the hell I'm going to do about J- my Dad. I mean, whatever happens, eventually he's going to figure it out. Pretty sure he already knows." He sighed. "It's like I just proved every doubt he's ever had about me right."

"He's the sort to believe in right and wrong, isn't he?"

"Oh yeah, but it's all black or white to him- there's no grey where the law's concerned. Even if I explained why ...this all went down, he wouldn't understand. He still believes in the system, for some reason." A bitter note crept into his voice, one he was sure was picked up on.

"Something happened to you." Again, not a question.

Stiles laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, you could say that. Long story short, some stuff went down and you could say the justice system sorta fucked me."

"Your dad didn't help you?" Derek frowned as he listened.

"He couldn't, not by the time he realized ...Sometimes I think Dad only kept his stupid job so he wouldn't turn into an alcoholic, put it that way. The older I got the less ...understanding he's been."

"I'm sure he just wants what's best for you."

Stiles snorted. "He likes to think he knows that that is, for sure."

Derek didn't reply for a moment, both of them looking at the television screen but not really paying attention to the program as he changed the subject. "So, what exactly are you scared of?" 

Stiles gave a weak chuckle. "People, mostly. Guns. Nuclear war. Hurricanes. Locked doors. My favorite books being turned into shitty movies."

"Those are all valid things to be afraid of," Derek spoke softly with a grin. "You seemed pretty relaxed tonight with everyone here though. And you're not afraid of me anymore?"

"Well," he swallowed. "It was ...I'm not used to it, but it was okay- better than I thought it'd be. And I'm not ...afraid ...of you, really. Nervousness and fear aren't really the same thing."

"No, they're not." Derek agreed, cracking his fingers loudly. "If it's any consolation, you make me nervous too."

"What?" Stiles smiled crookedly at the ridiculous idea. He checked the man's expression for any signs he was being teased but Derek seemed completely serious. "Oh my god, how? You're ...well, you. You're like something out of an action movie!"

Derek stared at the tv, suddenly very quiet. "Kate was my first. After ...everything that happened, there was never anyone else." Oh ...shit, they were ...together? Jesus, that makes it all a thousand more times awful, doesn't it? ...We never did talk about that moment with her today. "I'm just not used to feeling this way about anyone else."

"Feeling ...what way?" Stiles murmured, half asleep and hardly able to believe the conversation he was having with the handsome criminal.

Derek just grinned and shook his head, painfully handsome in the moment. Wish I could freeze that frame forever. "You're falling asleep."

"No! C'mon, I'm awake." The boy whined, words starting to slur slightly.

"I'm going out for a cigarette. If you're awake when I get back we can talk more." Derek laughed under his breath at the pout Stiles couldn't help.

"You'll be sorry when you have to spill your guts in a few minutes." Stiles promised sleepily, snuggling into the blanket.

**************************************************

"Stiles? Are you awake?"

The hacker gave a soft groan. He didn't recognize his surroundings, dark as they were. He was laid out, still wrapped in his blanket though on a soft makeshift bed on the floor. Must've fallen asleep ...Derek took me downstairs I guess? "Who ...?"

"It's Isaac," the reply was whispered as Isaac crouched next to him. "Where's Derek?"

"Mmm, went for a smoke." The warmth of sleep clung to him and made everything fuzzy and comfortable.

"Are you sure?" Isaac seemed confused by his answer.

"Mhm," he sighed as he stretched, slightly stiff. "Pretty sure. Why?"

"I didn't know-"

Isaac was interrupted by a rumble that shook the building. A deafening roar shook Stiles awake with a start, lasting only a couple seconds. Across the dividers, he could hear the confused sounds of Erica and Boyd waking up to the din as well. The sounds of gun shots resonated throughout the room, spurring them to their feet in a flash. He struggled to untangle himself from the blankets as Isaac crept cautiously to the steps, an orange light casting dancing shadows on his face. "What the hell ..." 

They crept up the stairs, a pleasant-feeling warmth spreading over their faces and both boys gaped at the flames licking up the sides of the room. The money they had been counting earlier burned like tinder, scraps of the paper and its embers floating into the air like fireflies.

One side of the wall was completely engulfed in flames, the smoke rising from it black and acrid as it ate the cheap wood eagerly. Broken glass crunched under their feet, and Stiles could see the neck of a broken beer bottle near the now overturned table where Derek crouched behind, loading a pistol as quickly as he could.

Upon noticing Stiles and the others, he beckoned them closer with a hiss, eyes wild and already bloodshot from the smoke. "Get the fuck over here!" Besides the crackling flames, it was silent as they crouched down and joined the man behind his cover. Oh Derek ...the fire ...

"What's happening?" Isaac questioned in a whisper, eyeing the broken window warily as Derek handed them the familiar weapons.

"Cops," Derek scowled, breathing heavily. "Started firing on me while I was outside, threw a molotov through the window just now." No, that can't be right.

Boyd snarled. "How did they find us this fast?" He turned a suspicious eye on Stiles, all good rapport between them seemingly undone in an instant.

Stiles coughed, using the collar of his shirt to try and keep from breathing in the smoke. "No way, I wouldn't ...rat you guys out. I'm in this just as much as you are, come on! My Dad would never-"

The furious look Derek turned on him made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out. "Argent owns the police, Stiles. Do you really think your father is the one calling the shots? Hell, he might've been the one to order this." Dad ...no, it's not possible, he wouldn't-

"No, no he wouldn't do this! All the officers can't be corrupt, it-"

A high pitched sound started to grow outside the building, like a kettle whistling.

"We don't have time for this," Erica snapped at both of them. "We need to get out of here!"

"What is that?" Boyd grimaced at the rising volume of the screech.

"Come on, out the back. Keep your guns out." Derek commanded, gesturing them back the way they came towards the kitchen. They had only moved a few feet before a corner of the building was violently ripped away in a blinding explosion.

Stiles was thrown to the floor by the force, the others flung backwards as well. Small pieces of glass dug into his hands, his vision blurry as he struggled to get to his feet. Someone let out a moan as they tried to get themselves together. The building was being consumed rapidly by flame, the heat overwhelming and all around them.

With a groaning chorus of creaks, some of the supporting rafters detached from the ceiling, one of which swinging down and striking Derek in the back of the head with a sickening crunch as Stiles watched groggily in horror. He swung his arms through the clouds of vapor, trying to make out the man in the fire and hazy air.

"Derek!" He accidentally breathed in a lungful of thickening smoke, choking and sputtering Derek's name as he crawled towards his still form. There was a small wet patch in his black hair, eyes closed and breathing shallowly but unconscious. The sight sent a shock of nausea through the hacker but he fought it off as best he could.

Stiles grabbed one of Derek's arms, planting his feet to either side of him and pulling as hard as he could. The dead weight was near impossible for him to move- Derek had quite a bit of mass on him. "He- help!" He choked out. "Guys? Anyone?" He knelt down and cradled Derek's head in his lap, watching the swaths of flame slowly coming closer. Oh my god I'm gonna die here tonight. Suddenly Boyd burst through the wall of smoke, coughing into his arm.

The hacker scrambled to his feet, flailing wildly. "Boyd! Help me move him, he's out cold." Please don't wake up until we get you out of here ...

Together, they hoisted Derek's prone body to his feet and stumbled towards the back where Erica held the kitchen door open. Her bottom lip trembled and her face streaked with soot as he imagined they all were, but she looked somewhat relieved as the three of them emerged from the cloud of smoke.

"Where's Isaac?" Boyd grunted, shifting Derek's weight on his shoulder as they made their exit through a small hallway that led outside.

"He went to get us a car. Oh god, Derek ...is he ...?"

"He's alive," Stiles panted with the exertion, sweat and soot covering his forehead in ashy splotches. "Got smacked on the head pretty bad though."

They carried him painstakingly slow towards the treeline, Erica leading them and keeping an eye on the burning building as they retreated. "I don't think anyone's following us." She murmured.

"Probably think we're good as dead after that. Those fuckers blew the oil tanks." Boyd scowled as they laid Derek down in the cool grass. "Where are we supposed to go now?"

The three of them watched the embers flicker in the darkness as they floated from the ruined hide out on the docks. The flames bathed them in an orange light that danced across their grim faces.

"I have an idea," Stiles offered, raising a hand wearily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, had some mad writer's block during this chapter, which was frustrating since I knew exactly what I wanted to write. Ugh!


	9. Disengaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> before and after that day  
> i’d trade all i was worth  
> to make myself into  
> the handsomest gun  
> and put the diamond bullet  
> into your  
> 404 ERROR face
> 
> (i forget what i saw)

The car Isaac had 'appropriated' for them was an obnoxious mustard-colored Sedan. It earned him some raised eyebrows but he escaped any smart comments as no one was in much of a joking mood anymore. All of them were singed, tired, and the heavy musk of smoke clung to their clothes and hair as a grim reminder of the assault on the hideout. They agreed to avoid the front door to Stiles' apartment, opting to pull around the building to a side door that led to the stairs.

"Through here," Stiles whispered, his voice echoing faintly in the concrete hallway and making them all collectively flinch; The drive from the ruined dock hideout had been mired in a tense silence. He and Boyd panted with the exertion of piling Derek in the backseat and withdrawing the dead weight.

Erica led them up through the side stairs, floor by floor and gun at the ready in her steady hands. Stiles had eyed the weapon, about to protest once the worry Scott was home hit him but she was quick to pick up on his discomfort.

"We don't know if there's a nasty surprise waiting for us up there, Stilinski- getting shot at once in a day is enough for me. How about you?" He reluctantly conceded the point and handed over his keys without any further complaint.

Going up the stairs was awkward and cumbersome- Isaac shouldering a bag he had withdrawn from the trunk of the car and attempting to help Stiles with Derek's legs. As they went up one step at a time, Stiles watched the unconscious man's face for any sign of waking but was disappointed. Derek's eyes remained still in their sockets, a shallow breath causing his chest to rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

One of the lights on the wall flickered with an irritating buzz, casting blinking shadows over the procession as they reached the third floor. Erica held the door open with her foot long enough for Boyd to shoulder it before she strode down the hall ahead of them.

"Which one?" The question was a whisper that carried down the quiet hallway, 

"Three-oh-four," Stiles huffed out. "You need to jiggle the key." You better be knee-deep in ugly cats right now, Scott.

Erica unlocked the door almost silently, easing it open and poking the barrel into the dark apartment. Seeing the lack of lighting, Stiles figured his roommate was indeed working late- or asleep. Or in a pool of his own blood on the kitchen floor. The morbid thought made him shake his head as hoped fervently for one of the former.

"In here," the hacker whispered as he nudged open his bedroom door with a foot. He half expected shadowy thugs, guns cocked and ready to finish them off but there was only the stale familiarity of his room. They dropped Derek onto the bed unceremoniously with a collective exhale of relief. Boyd unholstered his weapon and joined his girlfriend in her sweep of the other rooms.

The image of Derek unconscious on top of the wrinkled unmade bed was surreal and stirred a myriad of feelings within him. It's strange seeing him so ...peaceful, so still. The hottest guy I've ever seen is sleeping in my bed. Well, not sleeping I guess. Out cold- but still, come on. Thanks, Universe.

"All clear."

The apartment wasn't large and a search only took minutes to confirm they were alone. Stiles breathed out a grateful sigh when no cry of alarm was raised. He had hoped his new friends weren't the type to shoot first, ask questions later. And when did I start thinking of these guys as friends? Must be some life-or-death situation bonding thing.

The tension that had been present in Erica's shoulders seemed to evaporate as she turned to appraise Stiles and Isaac. "When's your ...roomie I assume, supposed to be back?"

He scratched the back of his head, fingers coming away slightly ashy with soot. "No idea, he might be working a weird shift tonight."

Isaac nudged the curtain aside with a finger, watching the streets below them. "We need to figure out what we're going to do. Probably not a good idea to stay here too long."

"For real?" Boyd crossed his arms, opening aiming a distrustful look at Stiles who concentrated on watching Derek's chest rise and fall in its predictable repetition. "We're not gonna talk about how the Chief's boy helps us out on a job and we get shit from the cops the same day?"

Stiles hoped his sincerity shone through somehow as he forced himself to meet Boyd's eyes. "I ...I wouldn't, you can't think after-"

"We don't know you," Boyd cut him off coldly, tension filling the room at the statement. "We don't know what you wouldn't do."

The hacker hugged his arms close, mirroring the other man's stance. He was starting to get frustrated and upset at the scrutiny though rationally he could see Boyd's point. "Even after I saved Erica's life?"

Boyd let out a sharp exhale, unimpressed even as Erica wore an uncomfortable expression that revealed she wasn't totally on board with her other half's line of thinking. "Just so we can get arrested later, maybe."

"Boyd." Erica murmured, laying a hand on his arm. He sneered even as Erica started to gently pull him towards the door. "Come on, let's go find a place that's still open- get some coffee and something to eat." The suggestion had an obvious plea for peace laced through it and after the events of the past twenty-four hours, Stiles couldn't blame her. "Nobody's sleeping tonight while we wait for Derek to wake up anyway."

The man answered in a grunt, heading for the front door with no further comment as Erica shot Stiles an apologetic shadow of a smile before following Boyd out. Isaac watched them go impassively, a quiet but unknowing witness to the guilt starting to gnaw at Stiles' brain. The sound of the door closing and locking behind them was loud in the empty apartment.

I didn't do anything to tip the police off ...I know I didn't. I've been careful ...and even if Dad's suspicious, he still wouldn't know where I was- oh fuck. The memory of the conversation with the Chief the day before came to mind:

"Dad! Dad, cool it. It's sort of off the books I guess, just an odd job I picked up at the docks."

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck I'm such an idiot. Goddamn it, Boyd might as well be right about me.

"Hey." He looked up as bag in hand, Isaac motioned the hacker to follow him out of the bedroom. Stiles followed numbly, Isaac closing the door gently behind them as he led Stiles' through his own place to the living room. "Mind if I smoke in here?" He cracked open a window as soon as Stiles gestured for him to go ahead, offering the pack of cigarettes as he dropped his cargo at his feet.

Stiles shook his head, sitting on the couch with legs drawn up close to his chest in a ball. "No thanks ...feel like I'm gonna puke."

The other boy gave him a sympathetic nod. "Don't worry about Boyd- he'll probably cool off by the time they get back."

"That's-" Fuck. "He's right though."

Isaac raised an eyebrow, nonplussed. "He's right about you selling us out to your dad?"

"No! No. Not purposely anyway," Stiles muttered. "Dad called yesterday morning after you guys left for the bank, he asked me where I was and I panicked- it's not easy coming up with something convincing to the Chief you know and-"

"You accidentally told him you were at the harbor." Isaac guessed correctly, calmly looking on as he tapped his ashes out the window.

The hacker winced at it being spoken out loud. "Yeah, pretty much." He sighed, resting his hands on his head. "Derek's going to murder me."

"Derek's an intense guy but he's not the murdering type." Hah ...tell that to Kate Argent. Isaac took a heavy drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he exhaled it into a small cloud. "Nah, it'll be fine."

Stiles laughed, his anxiety spiking the more he thought about the man waking up. "I don't think so. I just cost him a shit ton of money, a base of operations, not to mention almost all our lives." He eyed the coffee rings on the end table next to him miserably, idly bringing his mother into his thoughts. Mom would've destroyed me for not using coasters.

"Well, we didn't lose everything," Isaac gestured towards the black bag on the floor. "I managed to save my emergency laptop."

Stiles skeptically eyed the bag, bulging with its contents. "That's a laptop?"

"Well it's ...Boyd's bag, I think. There's probably some of his stuff in there too. It was just the closest thing I could grab on our way out." At Stiles' fresh expression of guilt Isaac shrugged nonchalantly, trying to placate the other boy. "Look, it would've happened eventually anyway. They would've traced your cell phone if they haven't already. That was an oversight on Derek's part, not yours." He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "You ...don't still have your phone on you, do you?"

"Yeah," Stiles sighed miserably. "But I messed with the GPS chip the day I got it. Stupid thing hasn't been active for like a year."

"Oh. Well that's good then." Isaac didn't seem to know what else to say to attempt to comfort him any further. The two of them sat in an uneasy silence for a while- Stiles lost in his thoughts while the end of Isaac's cigarette winked orange in the darkened living room.

What if he doesn't wake up? The thought send a thrill of cold fear running through him. It'll be your fault if that happens. No one made you decide to get involved in any of this. You might as well have knocked him out yourself.

"Hey, you okay?" Isaac was watching from the window, concerned at the heavy breathing Stiles realized was coming from himself.

The hacker got to his feet, hands shaking as he muttered. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna go check on Derek."

Isaac nodded but turned back to the window with a frown, watching the odd car drive by every now and then on the streets below.

**************************************************

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, face slightly reddened after he had scrubbed all evidence of fire from his skin. The dirty smell of smoke still clung to his clothes, the odor sickening in its unrelenting consistency. Some fresh clothes would be nice. Later I guess when there's no Abercrombie model god asleep in my bed ...an Abercrombie model god that's been traumatized twice now by fire. I now see this for the sick joke that it is- fucking no thanks, Universe.

Stiles closed the bedroom door behind him softly once more, heart hammering as he turned to appraise the man still in his bed. Derek hadn't moved from the position they had left him in and even though the man was still unconscious, the steps Stiles took towards the bed were tentative and cautious even in his own home. In one hand he held a wash cloth he'd retrieved from the bathroom, wet and cold in his palm.

It seemed like it took hours but after a moment of hesitation Stiles sat down on the edge of the bed. He took the opportunity to study Derek's face, much less intimidating without the intensity coming steadily from his eyes. Slowly, his breath held, he pressed the wet cloth to Derek's forehead. Along with the ash and soot, it seemed like the heat from the flames still clung to the man as well. Under the back of Stiles' hand his skin felt hot and almost feverish and the boy hastily applied the cool dampness to more of his skin.

"I'm so sorry, Derek." He apologized quietly, whispering as he tried to keep the moisture from his eyes and the sobs buried deep down in his chest. "I should've just left you alone when you told me to go. Boyd ...he's right. You don't know me, and I- I don't even know you. I just thought ...god, this is so stupid." He watched as the inky stains transferred to the white cloth, shaking with the tremors in his hands as he spoke. "I want to ...know you. I feel like I already do but it's just ...some stupid feeling I guess. I just ...I look at you and everything seems a little better, like everything can be okay and I- I want to be okay. I don't want to be scared anymore." He felt the tears start to force themselves out and he cried as quietly as he could, muffling himself with his knuckles as he hoped Isaac couldn't hear it in the small apartment.

Stiles wiped at his eyes, struggling to get control of himself as he felt the weight on his bed shift suddenly. "D-Derek?"

Derek's eyes eased open, rolling in their sockets as he looked around the room before settling on Stiles. "Where are we?"

The hacker almost laughed or started crying again, so strong was the mix of guilt, relief, and worry. "My apartment, I- I couldn't think of anywhere better to go, I'm sor-"

"Did everyone make it out?" Derek's jaw was tight, his eyes searching for any sign of an answer even before Stiles spoke. Oh god, the fire- He was about to offer some sort of consolation, knowing the connection to Derek's past was obvious to both of them, but remembered how much he hated the constant sympathy- after his mom died and after ...everything else.

"Yeah, yeah we're all okay. A little singed, but we're good." Derek seemed to visibly relax into the bed and Stiles tried for a weak smile, wringing the rag dry in his hands unknowingly causing drops of water falling to the floor beside them. "How are you feeling?"

The man gave a quiet grunt and wince as he stretched experimentally. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers probing the impressive bump Stiles imagined was there. "Head hurts. So does my leg." He hissed through gritted teeth in pain as he struggled to move his right leg, settling for dragging himself into a sitting position against the headboard.

Stiles looked away with a sting of guilt, biting his lip. "Yeah ...you took a bit of a hit when the building started coming down."

Derek was silent for a beat before he spoke. "You got me out of there." How could you possibly know that- not even fair how you can do that oh my god I can't deal with this constant ...eye-fucking.

"Well, I guess, but Boyd did most of the lifting. Not sure if you know but it takes like three people to move you when you're out cold, not saying you're overweight obviously, maybe tone it down with the working out, is muscle heavier than far? I-"

"Stiles."

"Y-es?"

"You're rambling. I was about to thank you."

Stiles cringed. "Right, sorry. Uh, you're welcome." He chanced a quick look but Derek seemed more tiredly bemused than genuinely upset with him so he took a chance to continue. "Uh ...I know you just rejoined the land of the living, but I- I need to tell you something." The look on Derek's face told him nothing besides a vague sort of patience he chose to take as silent encouragement. Here we go. He dropped the now desiccated cloth on the bed and reached into his pocket for his phone, intending to see the exact time the unfortunate conversation with his father took place, but he found nothing except the flash drive Derek had given him.

After a quick search Stiles found the device wasn't on him but on the bedside table. He couldn't remember removing it from his person when they came in but picked it up with a quiet hum. Must have taken it out when we got here.

"So ...yesterday, after you guys left me at the docks ...my Dad called." He waited for a reaction but there was nothing but the same cool eyes studying him as he spoke. Stiles swallowed nervously and continued, opting to stare down at the phone resting in his hands. "He wanted to know where I was- and I sort of let it slip I had a job at the harbor? But like, I didn't tell him where exactly, the harbor's pretty huge anyway, right?"

Derek nodded slowly. "Okay." 'Okay'? That's it?

"And now Boyd thinks I'm a rat but I swear, Derek, I would never do that. I wouldn't- not on purpose. You ...you believe me right?"

"I believe you." A cool wave of relief poured over him, stopping short at his next words. "You're being tracked though."

The hacker blinked. "You mean ...my phone? No, Isaac said that too but I disabled the GPS in it as soon as I got it."

To his surprise, Derek shook his head as he cracked his knuckles idly. "I'm not so sure."

"Here I'll show you," Stiles insisted, quickly locating and grabbing a small tool off his dresser. He easily popped the cell phone apart seconds later, revealing its innards. "See?" He motioned to a particular point that was blackened and burnt out. "I used to do a lot of stuff like this when I first started, repairing or messing with smaller electronics. No GPS in here."

"Alright," Derek conceded with a furrowed brow. "Could've just been bad luck."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, about to put his phone back together when something strange caught his eye within the circuitry. "Wait. Something's wrong here." What the hell ...?

"What is it?" Derek peered curiously at the device, waiting for Stiles' diagnosis.

"I don't fucking believe this." The hacker's hands started to shake anew, not from any anxiety but from a quickly blossoming anger. "This!" He jabbed a long finger at a small black chip, no bigger than a dime, that had been wedged inside and half-hidden. "This fucking thing is a tracking device."

Derek didn't look convinced, taking the phone and studying it. "It looks like part of your phone."

"No, no fucking way," Stiles spat, pointing at it accusingly. "I recognize it. It's slapped on cars, or clothing, or phones and you'd never know what it was unless you've seen it before."

"Where have you seen it then?"

Stiles grit his teeth. "It's police issue."

The man frowned as he contemplated the answer. "So you think ..."

"I think my Dad's been keeping tabs on me. He has fucking boxes of these in his office, where else would it come from?" Stiles began to pace back and forth, heartbeat hammering and thoughts running a mile a minute. "How could I be so fucking stupid?" He watched numbly as Derek withdrew the tracker and snapped the phone back together with a sharp click. "We need-"

The phone began to vibrate like a buzzing insect trapped in Derek's hands. They both looked at each other. "-to get rid of this." Stiles finished his sentence as Derek tilted the screen so he could see the Chief's number flashing on the display. His chest felt like it was tightening, the air flow thin and shallow in his lungs.

"You don't have to answer it." Derek suggested softly, his fingers uncurling as the phone continued to vibrate in the center of his palm.

"No," Stiles replied mechanically as he reached out. "No, I do." With a final moment of hesitation he answered the call, putting the call on the speaker setting so Derek could hear every word though he doubted the man would speak at all. "Hello?"

"Stiles? Where the hell are you? I've been calling all day." I don't remember those calls, so that's funny.

At John's demanding voice, a fresh coat of anger was added to the brooding resentment that never seemed to totally leave him no matter what. "'Where the hell am I?' Why don't you look up where I am right now, why even bother asking?" Derek snapped the small disk of plastic between two fingers with a soft grunt of effort in the background, letting the pieces fall to the floor.

"What?" The Chief's confused voice sounded tinny and insincere to Stiles through the speaker like a bad actor in a radio play. "What are you talking about?"

Stiles was deathly quiet, considering the device in his hand gravely as he posed his next question. "Are we skipping the whole trial thing now and just fucking torching people alive instead? Sort of a double standard isn't it?"

"You were in that building at the docks? What- no, never mind, just ...Stiles, now listen, I don't know-"

"Yes you do. Yes you do know. You don't get to do that again, you don't get to play that card again." The volume of Stiles' voice rose even as it shook with a tornado of emotions, both past and present. "Do you know what he's done, that asshole you work for? Do you just pretend everything is normal, just like before? He's tried to have me killed, for fucks sake!" Derek's eyes were closed as he listened silently.

"Mayor Argent? Now hold on, you're not making any sense, Stiles. This is ...pure paranoia, I've never heard you like this before."

"I'm not being paranoid, it all makes sense." Stiles whispered, trembling and gripping the phone with two hands to prevent it from sliding out of his grasp.

"Stiles, these people you're with...whoever they are, you need to get away from them, do you hear me?"

Stiles let out a bitter, incredulous laugh. "Get away from who? People who don't treat me like I'm a fucking crazy loser? I have a chance to ...to right some pretty fucked up wrongs." He glanced at Derek who put a hand on his knee, giving a gentle squeeze of support.

The Chief was quiet for a second as if gathering his thoughts, speaking slowly. "So you're playing vigilante, is that it? I ..." He sighed, coming out of the speaker as static. "Believe me, every day there's at least a few times I wish I could do that, but the rules exist for a reason, Son. What you're doing is criminal, you know what's going to happen with your record- the justice is going to demand jail time-"

"I'm not going back to a cell," Stiles spit out, Derek's hands encasing his own and slightly muffling the speaker. "I'm not. I'd rather actually try to help people this way instead of leaving it to ...to justice. What justice?"

The Chief attempted to speak calmly, his words carefully calculated in their suddenly soothing tone. Stiles felt his stomach clench sickeningly. "Just tell me where you are and we'll sort this out. I'll speak to Argent, he can probably pull some strings, make some of this go away-"

"I don't believe this," he muttered. "How deep are you in with him?"

"Stiles, you know I work closely with the Mayor, I don't know wh-"

"Just stop. Stop. God," he struggled to catch his breath. "I can't deal with this right now. My father, Chief of fucking Police, is in bed with the guy trying to kill us. You- you should've just left me with Carson."

"I-"

Stiles disconnected the call, flinging the phone to the floor where he stomped on it as hard as he could with a cry of rage. He drew in a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as he felt a pair of arms encircle him from behind him as Derek moved forward as much as he could on the bed. The contact was comforting and that the feeling should be so alien to him set the hacker off again, violent sobs wrenching themselves out of him.

"I- I don't know what to do!" He cried, sitting numbly as Derek continued to hold him through the rising panic attack.

"Breathe," the man offered with a murmur in his ear. "Just breathe. I've got you."

A knock at the door startled Stiles, who flinched back into the protective embrace. Isaac's voice came through the door. "Everything okay in there? Erica and Boyd just got back."

"We're fine, give us a minute." Derek instructed, receiving no reply besides the faintly receding footsteps. He nudged Stiles' neck until he had enough room to plant a kiss on the inked skin, repeating again and again until the sobs began to gradually transform into small, breathy sighs.

"What's going to happen?" Stiles questioned softly, an undercurrent of despair punctuating his words. "I mean, I don't know what's going to happen to me- I ...don't have anyone else besides my d- the Chief."

Derek hummed faintly in acknowledgment, answering in a deep rumble. "You have me now, don't worry. Your father ...he'll come around in time, with the evidence."

The boy wiped his eyes. "What do you mean? We're ...fugitives, we're on the run now. Derek-" He paused a moment, trying to gather his thoughts and steady his voice. "I ...I can't go to jail, you don't understand-"

"We'll discuss it soon with the others." Derek answered shortly as Stiles twisted around to look in his eyes, finding serenity and a quiet acceptance. "You don't have to worry. Nobody's going to take you anywhere."

The hacker threw his arms around the man's shoulders, shutting his eyes tightly and trying to keep calm as he hoped the gesture of affection wouldn't blow up in his face. Stiles' face pressed into the scratchy stubble that dotted Derek's jaw, the contact warm and electrifying, terrified both of a reaction and the very touch he initiated. To his immeasurable relief, two arms held him back, a hand gently squeezing the base of his neck.

Stiles sighed into Derek's hair as another thought struck him, breathing the fire-tinged scent of him in. "Scott's gonna have a kitten (or a whole litter, heh) if I have to bail out on the rent- ah!" He cried out as the grip Derek had on him tightened painfully as the man muttered next to his ear, breath hot and rasping.

"Who's Scott? A friend? ...boyfriend?" The muscles in Derek's arms flared with sudden tension, locking Stiles in close like an iron vice.

"My- my roommate!" Stiles whimpered as the hand that felt like a talon released him just as suddenly, massaging the tender skin.

"Okay," Derek whispered low and sensual, kissing the boy's earlobe and sending pleasurable shivers through him. "Okay."

Jesus fucking Christ, what was that? Stiles' neck throbbed dully as he trembled in Derek's arms, too afraid to move away now that the touches had returned to the careful tenderness he found himself craving.

Derek pulled away after a few moments, giving the hacker a nudge from behind that became a lingering finger down his spine. "Go get the others."

"Sure," Stiles mumbled, getting to his feet hastily only to find his arm caught in Derek's grasp.

"Stiles?"

He turned to face Derek, eyes flickering back and forth from the dazzling smile the man wore to the floor below, not knowing what to expect.

"Look at me," Derek commanded softly. "Please?"

It was as though a weight held his gaze down but Stiles managed to gather the will to look up, met with a large hand that cupped the side of his face and eyes exuding their usual intensity though blanketed with a certain warmth.

"I'm not a very ...nurturing sort of person. It's ...hard for me to do." Is that an apology? You ...you don't have to apologize to me of all people, Derek- You haven't had the best romantic history ...and I haven't had one at all. I know what it's like to not be understood, to be ...misinterpreted no matter how hard you try. It's okay.

"I'll leave a couple months rent to cover your share with Scott if we have to leave the city."

Stiles felt his eyes widen a little. ...We? "Derek, you don't have to do that. I ...I understand. I get it." Was all he said, giving the side of Derek's palm a shy kiss after a second of hesitation.

"I knew you would." Derek smiled roguishly, devastatingly handsome to Stiles in that moment. "Come here," he murmured, pulling the boy down to capture his lips in a kiss not unlike the one they shared at the docks- a ghost of pressure that for all its simplicity sent off fireworks in Stiles' mind.

He understood the gentleness even through his swoon, appreciated the frailty of what it represented for both of them- a reclaiming of a gesture that had been tainted by the past. I want to feel this way forever.

**************************************************

"Remember how I said the Kleiner Danson job was the shittiest plan you've ever had? I take it back, this is way shittier." Erica sat on Stiles' dresser, her legs dangling over the sides as she ranted at an unimpressed Derek. She sipped the coffee they had brought back through pursed red lips.

"It just seems too fast," Isaac spoke up as he watched Stiles typing on the laptop he had rescued from the fire, their faces both bathed in the same blue glow- the only source of light in the room besides a small lamp in the corner. "We need more time to ...you know, lick our wounds."

Stiles sat cross-legged on the bed next to Derek who, arms tight to his chest as he rested against the headboard, reiterated his previous speech slowly and clearly enunciated as if he were speaking to disobedient children. "That's the point- Argent wouldn't expect us to hit him again so soon, especially if we're lucky and he thinks we're all dead. The cops are probably still combing through the wreckage, they won't have had time to search for bodies yet."

"It's true," Stiles added softly, looking down at an untouched danish in his lap briefly before opening and installing several files, the flash drive Derek had given him already connected to the computer. "They might even wait until morning when it's light out to start processing."

Boyd snorted and the hacker's stomach sunk as he knew what was coming. "You'd know all about how the cops work."

"Boyd." Derek's voice was chilly and full of unsaid warning. "Enough."

"Whatever, man." Boyd muttered testily, tearing into some sort of sandwich.

Derek's jaw tightened a little but he pressed on. "The warehouse Stiles found- the one Argent's stuffing with cash, it's only ten miles outside the city limits. Judging by the resources he's sinking into it, it's something big. If we can hit it fast enough, we'll be in and out before he knows what's happened. "

"Depending on what's in there, this could be what we need to put him away, right?" Stiles looked to Derek as he posed the question timidly, still unsure of how much of Derek's history the others were aware of.

"Exactly." Derek's eyes smiled even as his mouth remained a stern line. He's not one to be sharing smiles all over the place ...at least not with other people, apparently.

Erica sighed. "I don't know, Derek. It doesn't seem worth the risk. If it's really that important then it's going to have more guarding it than some feisty bitch and an inept security team."

"It's a bad idea," Boyd agreed. "It'll only be the three of us plus him," he nodded dismissively at Stiles. "Since you can't even walk."

Erica groaned. "Jesus, baby, a little more tact?"

"What?" Boyd shrugged. "It's true."

"It is," Derek agreed, eye twitching in irritation as he tried to move his leg again. "But we're only stealing information and we'll have Stiles manning surveillance again- assuming there's even something to hack into that'll help us?"

Stiles nodded, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he typed. "Oh there is, it's just- fucking cocksucking fuck."

Isaac and Erica shared an amused look. "Problem?" Isaac tried to keep the smile out of his voice lest he attract a glare from Derek.

"Yeah, you could say that."

"What is it?" Derek asked softly, ignoring the curious looks as he placed a hand on Stiles' knee.

"Uh, well," the hacker swallowed, trying to concentrate through the contact that was warm and burning even through his jeans. "This place is pretty important, I can tell you that much. There are some computer systems in the buildings- probably nothing too intricate, maybe just archival stuff so they don't have to worry about storing all the paper, but it's uh ...locked up pretty tight, which is weird. There's no port for me to access at all."

"So what does that mean?" Isaac sipped his coffee, head tilted in Stiles' direction.

"It means I can't hack in remotely. Argent's hired ...oh shit." Stiles groaned as his eyes swept across the screen. "Argent must have hired another Hat." At the confused looks he got Stiles quickly explained. "It's just a nickname for computer experts- like me, that work with security? We're White Hats, we attack and reconfigure our own client's systems until they're strong enough to withstand attacks from people looking to break in. Grey Hats do the same but they're usually unauthorized and they scalp the company for their services to repair the damage afterwards. And Black Hats ...well they just like to fuck with people for uh, less charitable purposes."

"How cute." Erica murmured.

Stiles sighed resignedly. "Not really. Whoever Argent hired is ...good. Really good actually."

"Better than you?" Derek asked, the implied compliment not missed by the hacker who filed it away to be thought of more in depth later.

"Oh yeah," he nodded grimly. "There's no chance of me touching the defenses this- 'King Arthur' character placed, not from the outside. Think of a minefield filled with nuclear warheads and that's the digital equivalent of what I'm looking at right now."

"King Arthur?" Erica smirked wryly. "What are you on about, Stilinski?"

"It's their signature, hidden in code but visible to people who know what they're looking at." Stiles rolled his eyes. "They have a flair for the dramatic, I guess."

"I don't think this is going to work out, Derek." Isaac frowned at the screen over Stiles' shoulder. "If Stiles can't get into the systems, we'll be going in blind. Doesn't seem like good odds."

Derek didn't reply, his brows drawn tight together as he apparently considered the problem. "Stiles goes with you."

"What?" Stiles, Boyd, and Erica all said in unison. Isaac smirked smugly, hiding it with a cough into his arm.

"You said you can't hack in remotely," his eyes burned into Stiles' with a sudden feverish excitement dancing within. "But you can patch in manually if you were there, can't you?"

Stiles began to shake his head but stopped as he thought more. "No, well ...it's possible, yeah. There wouldn't be as much risk of them realizing I'm poking around in their security systems."

Boyd stood up, not looking pleased at the direction the debate was taking. "No way, I'm not babysitting while we put our asses on the line again- and for what?"

He knew it wasn't likely needed but Stiles felt an indignant ire spark at the dismissal. "To bring Argent down," he hissed on Derek's behalf even as the man stared Boyd down impassively.

"What do I care about that?" Boyd grunted, pointing at Derek. "I got into this with you for the money, not revenge- or whatever this is."

Stiles seethed, his hands shaking with a vibrating anger. "It's not about money or revenge, it's-" he managed to stop himself, looking at Derek as if for permission to continue but the man shook his head and gave his knee another squeeze. "But Derek, he-"

"Boyd's not going to change his mind," Derek interrupted. "He doesn't-"

The sound of jingling keys hit them all at once, everyone freezing and listening to the front door opening and closing.

"Who is that?" Isaac hissed.

"Stiles? You home?" A muffled but familiar voice came through the bedroom door.

"Scott, my roommate," Stiles whispered back. "No, wait!" He was too late- Erica and Boyd swept out of the room like specters, silent and quick on their feet as seconds later the sounds of struggle reached his ears. Oh shit, shit shit ...

Stiles rushed out of the bedroom with Isaac on his heels, turning into the living room to find Scott being squished against the floor face-first. Boyd knelt on his back while Erica, who apparently had the foresight to grab a belt off the top of Stiles' dresser, was tying his arms behind his back.

He froze as Scott turned his head, meeting Stiles' eyes, wide and panicked. "Scott? Shit, I'm ...I'm really sorry about this. I know that's pretty lame as far as apologies go."

"Stiles?" Scott breathed out weakly, the wind likely knocked out of him from Boyd's weight. "What ...what is this?"

The hacker sighed, awkwardly looking on as the couple stood back and admired their handiwork, the belt in a complicated loop around Scott's arms. "So remember those sketchbags I was going to meet? Funny story."

Scott groaned from the floor, trying to wiggle into a more comfortable position. "I told you ...ugh, I told you this was a bad idea."

"You have no idea," Stiles muttered back, crouching down beside his roommate and wincing at the hurt wariness in his eyes. "I know it's uh ...pretty hard to do at the moment, but just trust me when I say the alternative has been worse so far? Almost getting blown up, let me tell you, not a good time."

**************************************************

Side by side, Stiles leaned against the side of the couch after dragging Scott over against it. They spoke quietly over the muffled sounds of the other four arguing in Stiles' bedroom. They had spent the last half hour discussing the crazy situation Stiles had found himself caught up in.

"So the police were by today-er, yesterday now I guess, looking for you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I told them I hadn't seen you in a day or two, which was true. They wanted me to give them a call if I see you."

"Well, I guess you can once we leave if you feel like you have to." Stiles made a small noise of discontent. "It might not even matter if Argent gets to us first."

"Is it really that bad, dude?" Scott winced in his binding though he had calmed down somewhat after Stiles assured him that was the worst that was going to happen to him.

Stiles nodded, hands clasped in front of him. "Yep, pretty much. You thought your girlfriend's dad didn't like you?" He half-joked morbidly, receiving only the barest quirk of a lip.

Scott nodded towards the voices that seemed to grow in volume. "Are they really helping you out here or what?"

"I think we're all in the same boat now," the hacker replied, reluctant to lump Derek and the others into the same category. He liked Erica and Isaac, even Boyd ...to an extent but Derek was ...something else. "We're just trying to figure out what to do next."

"What are the options?"

Stiles chuckle turned into a sigh. "In broad terms? Pretty much all or nothing at this point."

Scott offered a grunt as the cat they must have scared into hiding earlier with their entrance crept out of hiding. The animal looked from Stiles to Scott and plodded across the couch, settling down comfortably and sitting on Scott's head. "Noooo, Mister Mittens get off!" He shook his head and jostled the cat as much as possible but Mister Mittens wasn't interested in departing and hung on for dear life with its claws in Scott's hair.

Stiles choked on his laughter, not moving an inch to help his roommate who was currently trying to avoid a tail that had curled around his face going into his mouth. "I'm suddenly a lot fonder of that hideous little goblin." He grinned as it began to knead Scott's forehead, purring like a small engine.

"Fine, whatever," Scott grumbled. "Look, whatever you do, just be careful, okay?"

Stiles felt a sudden lump in his throat. Jesus, Scott. You're tied up with a belt in your own apartment and you're still worried about me? "I ...yeah, I will. Sorry for, you know." He gestured the the binding with a tiny lick of shame.

Scott shrugged as best he could. "I get it. Can't say I like it much but I get it. Gotta make sure I'm not gonna snitch, right dude?"

"You're such a dork." Stiles snorted fondly. Only you would be still be calm in this situation, oh my god.

The quiet was interrupted by the bedroom door slamming violently against the wall, the cat startled and fleeing back to whatever hiding place it had emerged from.

"FUCK OFF THEN!" A snarling voice yelled, Stiles unsure of the owner but he felt comfortable hedging his bets on Derek.

Boyd stalked out of the bedroom, a blur heading towards the front door with Erica close behind, catching Stiles' eyes with her own for a second, obviously upset before they were hidden from view. A second door slammed opened and shut and then they were gone.

"What just happened?" Scott whispered.

"No idea," Stiles whispered back, getting to his feet and tentatively heading towards his bedroom. Before he got there, Isaac emerged looking unhappy. "Isaac? What's going on?"

"Erica and Boyd are leaving- well, left I guess," he answered glumly. "They're out."

"What do you mean, 'out'?"

Isaac shrugged. "They're done."

Stiles hovered just beyond the bedroom, unsure what to do. "Shit." He made to go speak to Derek but Isaac's arm swung out and caught him before he rounded the door frame.

Isaac gave a barely visible shake of the head, eyes wide and full of warning. What the hell, Isaac?

"Stiles?" Derek called for him, sounding ...broken. Stiles felt his chest clench at the wrecked tone, sounding on the edge of tears.

He shook Isaac off without a backward glance, stepping back into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. He almost recoiled in surprise at the misery pooling in the eyes that sought out his own. His own discomforts pushed aside, he hurried to the bedside. "Derek ..."

"They left." Derek spoke quietly, breaking the eye contact between them before Stiles for the first time.

"I know, I saw." Stiles murmured, climbing onto the bed and taking one of Derek's hands in his own. "What happened?"

Recounting it seemed to anger the man, his nostrils flaring and quiet despair igniting into a burning rage in seconds. "They left ...when I needed them most, they left me. FUCK!" With a growl, Derek's other arm flew out and swiped the lamp off the bedside table where it exploded violently against the wall in a spray of glass.

Stiles flinched at the display of rage, Derek noticing and his scowl softening back into melancholy, his mood mercurial and ever-shifting.

"I would go do it myself but ..." he looked sadly down at his bum leg. "This is ...frustrating. We're so close, closer than I ever thought I'd get- thanks to you."

Stiles found himself turning slightly red under the intensity of Derek's appraisal. "N-No, I didn't really do anything-"

Derek frowned, cracking his knuckles with loud pops. "If you hadn't found those files we wouldn't have even known those warehouses existed."

"I ...I guess."

"He needs to pay, Stiles." The man intoned quietly. "He needs to pay for everything he's done. For my parents, for Cora."

"Laura," Stiles automatically corrected. Derek looked at him strangely so he repeated the name uncomfortably. "Laura? Your sister's name was Laura, right?"

Derek was silent for a moment and Stiles experienced a rush of fear that he'd offended somehow. "...No," Derek spoke slowly. "No, Cora was my sister. You must have misheard."

"Oh, okay." Stiles conceded awkwardly, cringing at his misstep. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Derek accepted coolly. He sighed a moment later, pulling Stiles in close so the hacker's back was to his front. And now we're spooning in my bed- this is getting really surreal. "Back to square one."

The finality of the statement brought on a profound He thought for a moment, considering the rapid sequence of events that had transpired and trying to keep it in mind despite the overwhelming distraction of the body pressed up against his own. God, the drive he must need to wage a ...a fucking war against this Argent guy. If I had the resources, the ..will Derek does, and I could find fucking Carson ... Except ...it's too late to back and fix the shit that happened to me ...but we're wasting a perfect opportunity here that might not come again.

"It ...doesn't have to be." The words came out of his mouth before he knew they were coming but in the quiet of the room, they sounded right. Derek didn't reply, his breath warm on the back of Stiles' neck, and the arm he was using as a pillow quickly becoming more comfortable. His lids began to droop as the minutes passed, the adrenaline of the evening leaving him with a sudden fatigue in the now early morning.

"Stiles? Are you falling asleep?" The whisper of Derek's words tickled his ear, and he made some sound that made the man chuckle softly.

"...Mmm yeah, I am. M'sorry. S'okay?" He mumbled, snuggling back into the warm body cradling his own.

"It's okay. You can explain this brilliant plan to me in the morning." Derek laughed again, pressing warm lips onto Stiles' cheek. "Go to sleep, I'll be right here when you wake up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the end approaches (only four more chapters + epilogue!!) I grow increasingly nervous of how the ending will be taken. I suspect it may earn me my first real criticisms (finally- you're all painfully kind!) and that's both exciting and nerve-wracking! Ahh! I also worry the next two will go a bit too fast storywise, so I beg your indulgences. Thanks for reading these insecurities and this story thus far. :) xo


	10. Lay Down Your Goddamn Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there isn’t a key  
> you can use on me  
> you're not in this heart  
> this isn't in me
> 
> (i'm not of this world)

"Mmm ...Derek ...s-stop."

A low chuckle curled around the arousal pooling in his belly and squeezed tightly.

"You don't really mean that, do you, Stiles?"

Hands coasted along the expanse of his skin, pushing his shirt up as they went, memorizing every square inch they could reach. He whimpered at the touch, arching up into it as he squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"D-Derek!"

A sudden wetness startled a moan from him, a hot mouth wrapped around his hipbone giving a strong suck and nip of the teeth.

"Say my name, just like that." The button on his jeans was flicked open in one easy motion, the sound of the zipper coming apart loud and jarring to his senses. "Over and over again. Because I'm yours, Stiles. All yours. I'm all that you need. You know that, don't you?"

He couldn't think straight, let alone voice a coherent reply. "Nnnnhh, I- I-"

Another soft, rumbling laugh.

"That's alright, we have lots of time to talk. I'm yours now. Forever."

The temperature of his body somehow elevated to even greater heights as a hand palmed him through his boxers. He felt like his brain was boiling in his skull.

"...And you're mine. All mine."

The friction wasn't nearly enough. He whined, trying to thrust up against the teasing touch but he found himself held down in an impossibly strong grip that rooted him to the bed.

"Say it."

"W-what?" He managed to groan out, unsure of what the command asked for.

"Say that you're mine. I want to hear you say it."

He would say anything to get more. "I'm ...yours. I'm yours." He panted the words out and a moment passed where he was terrified it would end before a smug reply reached his ears.

"I know you are."

He felt a hand wrap around his aching need, shuddering with pleasure at the rough skin of the hands withdrawing him from the confining material. He felt his own arousal slickening himself, coating the fingers that held him.

A wet heat suddenly enveloped him completely, swallowing him down. He cried out at the overwhelming sensations of a throat convulsing around his length as it took him in as deeply as it could.

"Der-mmph"

A hand clamped over his mouth, preventing the loudening sounds coming from him. A pleased hum vibrated around him as his eyes rolled back in his head. As the seconds passed he felt the end approaching embarrassingly quickly, an itch deep inside him that desperately needed to be scratched. No one had done this to him before and the pleasure was proving too intense.

He tried to give warning but it seemed it wasn't needed- the sensations around him increased, bobbing up and down with a fervor. He moaned into the hand shielding the world from his sounds of pleasure, hitting orgasm in a cresting wave as he emptied himself into the eager heat that sucked down everything he had to offer.

He breathed heavily as the hand left his face, a voice coming from somewhere beyond the foggy lust that addled his brain.

"Hey, you guys awake?" A knocking sound.

He frowned, eyes still shut. Who was interrupting the best dream of his life so carelessly?

"Next time," a voice growled quietly into his ear, thick with arousal. "I'll let you make all the noise you want. I want you to scream my name. I want to hear you break under me."

"Stiles? Are you awake yet?"

The boy opened his eyes sleepily, trying to focus on the muffled voice coming from behind the bedroom door. After a moment they seemed to give up, thinking him still asleep. He stretched lazily, noting with puzzlement how relaxed he felt and the fact he was now only clad in the t-shirt he wore the day before and boxers, his pants gone. Did Derek ...? He remembered they had fallen asleep early in the morning- he knew he couldn't have slept much more than a few hours but he felt like he had woken from the best rest ever. Weird. ...oh shit.

At the same time as he felt Derek's body still pressed to his own, he noticed the wetness in his boxers as he moved. Oh my god, are you serious? Thought I was past the wet dream stage here. Jesus. He listened to the man breathing steadily, slowly behind him. I need to change before Derek wakes up and I have to jump out the window to escape the mortification.

As he carefully began to shift out of Derek's arms, he froze as he felt something press into the small of his back, just above his ass. Something warm, hard, and ...fuck that's his- He bit his lip, trying to keep in a groan. He felt himself harden, surprised at the arousal when he expected a certain disturbance to pass through him. Imagine waking up like this every morning, feeling him next to you and having the whole day to spend doing normal things. No robbing banks, no dead family to avenge ...arguing about what to do each day, walks in the park ...Stiles, stop torturing yourself.

Stiles managed to extract himself, admiring again how at peace Derek looked as he slept on. His eyes drifted down, taking in the shirtless, sculpted body wrapped haphazardly in his sheets. His cock gave a twitch as he stared at the sizable bulge that had been moments ago poking into him. Just look away, just look away ... With difficulty he did just that, tip-toeing around the bed gingerly towards his dresser to find something clean to change into.

He watched Derek a few moments to make sure he wasn't going to wake up and catch a very embarrassed, very naked Stiles changing in front of him. The hacker decided the stains on his boxers would be much more embarassing than a flash of his bare ass, so he hastily dug out a fresh pair and dropped the soiled ones around his feet. Kicking them off, he studied his body in the mirror a moment after also discarding the shirt that still smelled of smoke as well. He fingered a small bruise on one of his hips thoughtfully. Lucky that's all you escaped a burning building with. As he quietly opened a drawer, the skull tattooed around his shoulder seemed to watch on, grinning its wry black grin.

Just as he pulled the new underwear on and started to search for fresh clothes as well, Derek spoke quietly, causing his heart to jump in his chest.

"Morning."

The hacker looked at Derek in the reflection, turning bright red at being caught nearly nude. "G-good morning," he muttered as he grabbed the first shirt his hand touched, pulling it on hastily.

Derek smirked, unperturbed at his discomfort as he propped himself up on an elbow. "How'd you sleep?"

Something about the question was teasing but Stiles chalked it up to his current situation. There's no way he could know. "Good- really good." he replied distractedly, pulling on a pair of grey jeans. "You? How's the leg?"

"The same." Derek answered evenly without hesitation, eyes roving even still over Stiles' clothed form. The glinting amusement in his eyes made the hacker feel as if he were somehow indeed perfectly aware of the distressing state Stiles had woken up in. Maybe Dad was right, maybe I am paranoid.

The smell of bacon had found its way under the door and reached his nose in a perfume that made his mouth water. "Someone's making breakfast. I'll uh ...go investigate." Stiles said, his blush persisting with the curious awkwardness between them at the moment.

Derek nodded, expression blank once more as he laid himself back down, watching Stiles go.

Apparently during the night, Isaac had decided Scott wasn't deserving of bondage anymore and had released him though Stiles could see he still watched carefully every time Scott passed the phone on the wall. Scott's cellphone rested on the kitchen table a good distance away from him, confiscated and quarantined as well.

Scott seemed mostly unconcerned about it as he hummed under his breath, darting back and forth between several pans that cradled bacon, eggs, and pancakes. The smells coming from the stove top were mouthwatering- Stiles couldn't remember when he had last eaten.

"Smells great," he spoke quietly, Isaac giving a small jump at his sudden entrance. "You're cooking breakfast for everyone? ...Isaac and Derek too?" Only you, Scott.

Scott had begun nodding easily at Isaac's name but the movement became slightly stilted at Derek's. "...Yeah, if he wants some, I guess."

Stiles glanced at Isaac but the boy wore a blankness on his face that gave away little. He wondered what they had spoken about before he had joined them. "...Alright then. Sounds good."

His roommate nodded, mouth tight as he turned back to the sizzling pans.

**************************************************

Derek had thankfully managed to dress himself again in the time Stiles had left to explore the kitchen, which he had decidedly mixed feelings about. They had all taken breakfast into the bedroom, all convening (Scott included) as they ate together. Scott had insisted on opening the curtains, flooding Stiles' bedroom with an unfamiliar illumination as the hacker retook his place next to Derek on the bed with a scowl at the harsh daylight.

There was an uncomfortable tension present- one Stiles could understand given the circumstances and the way Scott had been received the night before.

"Thanks for breakfast." Isaac mumbled.

"No problem, dude." Scott replied, locked in a staring contest with Derek who offered nothing except a slow chewing of pancake, meeting Scott's gaze without difficulty. Oh my god this is the most awkward meal since the Policeman's Brunch Dad dragged me to last year.

Isaac cleared his throat, taking a swig of orange juice. "So," he began slowly, looking to each of them. "We should figure out what we're doing now. I don't think we should stay here much longer." He looked somewhat apologetically to Scott who shrugged, licking the bacon grease off his fingers.

"Stiles has some thoughts on that." Derek said nonchalantly, looking down at the plate on his lap as he speared another piece of pancake. "Don't you, Stiles?"

The hacker swallowed, uneasy at being put on the spot. "Uh ...yeah, I guess. Uh ..." The others looked to him, patiently waiting as he gathered his thoughts. "Argent's warehouses ...I- I think we should try to get in there."

Isaac frowned. "I thought we decided it was a bad idea- and that was before we lost half the team." Scott's phone buzzed on the edge of Stiles' dresser, Isaac picking it up and glancing at the screen. "...Text from Allison?"

Scott perked up, reaching out for it but Derek pointed his fork at Isaac in warning before fixing Scott with a dark look. "That's Argent's daughter."

Stiles could've laughed at the way his roommate deflated as Isaac replaced the phone on the dresser, lips pulled together tightly.

"Anyway," Isaac continued. "It would only be you and me since Derek's out of commission."

"Maybe ...maybe that's a good thing?" Stiles suggested slowly, trying to draw some assuredness from the man next to him. "I mean, the less of us going in the less chance we have of getting caught."

"I ...guess that's true."

"Plus," Stiles shrugged. "It's not like we need any disguise or huge explosions this time, right? It's like Derek said, we just need information. We'll get in, snap a few pictures once we know what's up, and haul ass outta there."

Isaac didn't look convinced. He mirrored the same skeptical frown Scott wore, both of them obviously not happy with the conclusions Stiles was drawing. He seemed about to protest further when Stiles looked to Derek from the corner of his eye, noticing how quiet and withdrawn he had rapidly become over the course of the debate. He imagined the steady furnace of pain Derek seemed to have been feeding with anger and thoughts of vengeance since he met him, and more than likely long before that. That's one fire I definitely want to go out. Fuck it.

"Look," he began firmly, proud of the confidence he had dredged up. "I'm gonna do this, no matter what. You can help me, or I'll go alone, but I'm doing this. Tonight."

Derek looked up at him then, eyes full of emotion the others didn't seem to notice, or in Scott's case, probably care much about at all. Stiles saw a profound gratitude, a rare glimpse of the oceans frozen beneath the careful veneer Derek wore at nearly all times.

"Alright," Isaac spoke softly in a resigned, unhappy tone after a moment of thought. "Alright, I'm in." Thank you, Isaac.

"Okay! Okay." The hacker grinned, looking excitedly to Derek even as his body vibrated with a nervous energy. "We can do this. We got this thing by the balls."

Isaac snorted as Scott shifted uncomfortably in the background. "I'm not so sure about that."

Stiles was already done booting up the laptop at the side of the bed, typing away furiously. "There has to be like ...some sort of blueprint or something in the city records, right?"

"Argent's likely remodeled extensively," Derek grunted. "Those might not be accurate anymore."

Isaac got to his feet, speaking loudly so they could hear him as he disappeared into the living room. "Better than nothing- and I still have our radios, you can look off whatever Stiles finds." He returned with the bag from before and deposited it on the bed with a soft thump. "At least we'll have a general idea of where we're going right?"

Derek nodded wordlessly, looking on as Stiles searched.

**************************************************

"So what's the plan for after all this?"

Stiles and Derek were still in the bedroom, alone at the moment after the morning passed by in a blur of gently clattering key strokes and the whir of the printer as they gathered whatever plans looked useful at first glance. His roommate had thankfully taken a bit of a liking to Isaac and the two had retreated to the living room, the sounds of gunfire coming from whatever video game they were playing.

They waited for the sun to go down, unanimously agreeing approaching under the cover of darkness was the best way to increase their odds of infiltrating the warehouses undetected. For a couple hours, it had only been the two of them together in a companionable silence punctuated with the odd thought spoken aloud by Stiles. Derek didn't seem to be a chatty mood and Stiles assumed the do-or-die situation was the chief cause. He didn't mind repeating the question when it became certain to him he hadn't been heard at all.

Derek raised an eyebrow, idly stretching his good leg. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you know, after we take the Argents down. What happens after that?" Stiles' heart thudded against his ribs as he anticipated an answer. What happens to me ...to us?

After a snort at Stiles' sudden confidence, the man considered seriously. " _If_ ," he emphasized with a pointed look. "If we take them down, there are ...things I want to accomplish."

"That's pretty specific," Stiles joked, the moment falling flat at Derek's lack of amusement. "Uh, I mean- I guess I was just wondering-"

It was as though his thoughts and worries were simply there for the man to pluck out of the air at a whim. "Where you'll be?" At Stiles sheepish nod, Derek rewarded him with a sly half-smile. "I think I can find a use for you- if you want."

"Yeah," the hacker replied softly, looking down at the pile of papers scattered across the bed. "That would be cool. I guess."

"I meant what I said, Stiles. You don't have to worry anymore. Not about anything."

"It's hard." The hacker mumbled, wringing his hands nervously.

"What?" Derek's tone was sharp and demanding, turning on a dime; Stiles hurriedly explained himself.

"It- It's just hard, you know? It's been so long since ...well I can't even remember the last time I was comfortable in my own skin."

The silence resumed between them for a while, so long Stiles was about to see if he could get away with digging a little more into Derek's past when the man caught him off guard with a sudden question.

"Who is 'Carson'? It's a name, isn't it? You mentioned it on the phone yesterday."

Stiles tried to hide the trembling that started in his hands, curling his long finger into fists in his lap. "He- I don't- I can't talk about it. I just can't."

"Something happened to you, Stiles."

No, no, no- "Derek, please- please, I don't want-"

"Who is that, Stiles? What did he do to you?" Derek persisted, voice cold and gray like granite.

The sadly familiar prickles of tears began to form at the corner of his eyes, as the unbidden memories came spilling back into his head. Waves of anxiety so strong it bordered on nausea poured over him. The hacker began to realize numbly that Derek wouldn't let up until he answered the curiosity to his satisfaction and began to speak in a halted whisper of a voice, the rivers finally escaping and rushing down his cheeks.

"He was at the home, the ju-juvenile detention-"

"Elmond House."

A cold chill shot down his spine at hearing the name for the first time in years. "How- how did you know that?" Stiles whispered, the words on the papers all blurring through the tears.

"It's the only one near Beacon City," Derek explained dismissively. "Tell me what happened to you there."

A low moan of dread escaped him, no longer seeing the sanctuary of his bedroom, no longer sitting next to Derek but in the office he could recollect with horrifying detail-

-he looked out the window, not really seeing the bright sunshine outside, not really hearing the muffled noise of the other boys teasing and laughing amongst themselves. The sound of the shoes thudding dully against the rug under their feet was deafening as they came to a stop in front of the chair he sat in.

The sound of a zipper being undone sent him automatically to his knees, still reddened and burned from the last time he assumed the all too familiar position. The motion, like his thoughts, were mechanical and thoughtless.

"You know what to do, Mr. Stilinski."

As he serviced the man, trying to breathe through the rough and uncaring thrusts into his mouth, the mantra of the past months repeated in his mind as a constant marquee: I'm not here, this isn't happening, I'm not here, this isn't happening, I'm not here-

Carson withdrew himself and even then Stiles thought maybe it was finally over when a hand came down like an angry comet, smashing into the side of his face. "What did we say about teeth, Stiles? Let's not lose our focus on what your purpose is here. Continue."

As his cheek stung from the blow, he berated himself for being so careless, redoubling his efforts if only to avoid a repeat incident. The reward of being able to sleep in a bed instead of a concrete floor had become rarer with time and the doctor's apparent streak of sadism. He started to experience a tunnel vision of logical sorts, focusing on making his lips a little tighter, using his tongue more. If he could hasten the man's orgasm, it would be over that much sooner.

"Now, now, don't rush me." 

Of course what he was trying to do was noticed. Stiles recognized the hidden warning, slowing down and praying for a quick session. In his mind, he traced the path to the kitchens from his room. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the clock and made note of the time. It was three in the afternoon. In nine hours, in the dead of night, he decided he would sneak to the kitchens- sprint if he had to upon possible discovery. He couldn't do this anymore.

He'd pick up the first knife he could get his hands on and open up his veins.

Anything but this-

-"Stiles. Stiles, snap out of it."-

-Carson shook him-

-Derek was shaking him, a hand tight on his shoulder. "Stiles, it's Derek. Listen to my voice."

Sweat dripped down the small of Stiles' back as he drew in a shuddering breath as if emerging from deep underwater. He wasn't sure what he had said in the midst of the worst of his attack, but apparently it had been enough. Derek's expression was ...murderous, his eyes darkened like the sky right before a thunderstorm. "Wh-what-" He croaked out, bewildered and struggling to gather his thoughts.

"It's okay. You're okay." Derek pulled him closer, easily gathering his limp body and crushing the two of them together. "I'm here. That ...will never happen again. I promise."

"Don't leave me," Stiles whispered vacantly, tremors still running through him. He was thankful for the frame sheltering him despite Derek drawing him into the attack in the first place. He just wants to know why I'm like this, that's all. "Please don't leave me."

"I won't," Derek replied easily, pressing his lips into Stiles' hair and breathing in his scent. "I'm not going anywhere."

**************************************************

As soon as Stiles had calmed down enough, Derek called the others in and they began to make their preparations. Isaac fitted a silencer onto his gun as Derek gave Stiles a disapproving look at the hacker's quiet refusal to take a firearm for himself. Probably end up shooting myself in the foot- literally.

"Wait- what? You're leaving me alone with him?!"

Derek narrowed his eyes and shot Scott a withering look but said nothing.

Stiles snorted, threading a belt with unsteady hands into the black jeans he had changed into. "You want to come with?"

"We could tie him back up and ditch him in a dumpster or something." Isaac suggested in a deadpan voice, receiving twin smirks from Derek and Stiles both.

"Not funny, dude." Scott crossed his arms and sulked at them further in silence, watching as they prepared. The sun had gone down and a nervous energy had begun to crackle throughout the room.

Isaac turned to study Stiles all of a sudden with an observant eye. "You sure you still want to do this? You look a little pale."

Stiles looked to Derek for a second, giving a curt nod as he took a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah I'm good." He said nothing of the attack he had experienced earlier, trying to focus on the present. "You should probably empty that thing," he said, gesturing to the bag that held the last remnants of the harbor hide out. "Looks pretty heavy to take with us."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Isaac agreed, unzipping the bag and handing out the same headsets they had used during their last job together. "All we need is the laptop and my kit, right?"

A sudden idea hit the hacker and he moved quickly to his dresser, opening a bottom drawer and withdrawing a small bottle of white powder.

"What's that?" Isaac peered at the contents curiously before it was shoved into Stiles' pocket.

Stiles grinned. "Fingerprinting powder. Stole it from my D- the Chief a long time ago. Been saving it for a special occasion. I'm thinking it might be helpful tonight."

Isaac shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask."

"You'll see."

They all watched, Stiles and Derek fitting the radios comfortably in their ears, as Isaac ruffled through the contents and expelled a variety of objects onto the bed. Sets of black leather gloves, a few magazines of pistol ammunition, and other predictable objects fell into a pile but something near the bottom caught Stiles' eye. No one stopped him as he reached out and felt something rubbery flop into his hand. Turning it over in his hands, his eyes widened and it was like he was punched in the gut.

A snarling wolf, eyeless without a human face behind it, glared up at him.

It was definitely a man, of that much Stiles was certain: a powerful frame loomed over him, broad shoulders and thick, muscled limbs. Instead of a human face, there was a wolf with shaded eyes and fangs frozen mid-snarl in a feral leer.

He took a step backwards, still clutching the mask tightly and drawing shaking breaths.

"What's wrong?" Derek questioned with a raised brow, all of them watching the hacker's reaction with the same puzzled faces.

"What-" he croaked out, trying to swallow the sudden dryness on his tongue. "What the fuck is this?"

Isaac's frown deepened. "What do you mean? It's uh ...it's a mask. We used them at the bank, remember?"

"Who ...who?" Stiles hissed, panic surging through his veins. "...Oh god."

Stiles skeptically eyed the bag, bulging with its contents. "That's a laptop?"

"Well it's ...Boyd's bag, I think. There's probably some of his stuff in there too. It was just the closest thing I could grab on our way out."

"...Boyd, this is Boyd's bag?"

Isaac and Scott's eyes were wide and wary of the hysterical note that had entered his voice. "Uh ...yeah, I'm pretty sure ..." Isaac trailed off awkwardly.

"It's his," Derek confirmed, questioning eyes still searching Stiles for the source of his unease. "It's Boyd's. Why?"

"Oh god," Stiles repeated, a sickening realization going through him. It was an act- Trying to cast suspicion on me after the fire. Did he run when he knew Derek wasn't buying it? The theories bounced around off each other in his brain, wildly settling on one after the other. "That night ...that night in the alley," he met Derek's calm eyes with his own stretched wide with shock. "That night you found me ...it was Boyd, Derek. It was him. He was ...he was wearing that."

Derek looked on, taking in the outstretched finger pointing at the offending disguise. He was quiet a moment, looking up with something Stiles couldn't identify in his face. "Are you sure?"

"It had to be! It's the same mask, it's Boyd's bag, and whoever it was that night was built- like Boyd. I think ...I think he's the one who tipped off Argent."

"Motherfucker," Isaac swore, sharing a look with Derek. "He's been working with us for a while, is that ...is it possible he was just waiting for the right moment to fuck us? Does that mean Erica's in on it too?"

Derek grimaced at the revelation of betrayal that was unraveling between them and let out a heavy sigh. "It's possible. It'd explain some things, for sure."

Stiles nodded slowly. "We ...we have to go now, before-" he looked up at Derek as a fresh worry struck him. "What if they come back while we're gone? Or someone else? You won't be able to- to get away, you-"

"I'll be fine, dude. Thanks for asking." Scott muttered snidely, only Isaac hearing the comment with a smirk.

Derek pointedly cocked the pistol resting at his side, nestled in the sheets. "I'll be fine. Just keep calm and we'll all be okay. Okay?"

"Okay," Stiles agreed, sparing one last uneasy glance at the discarded mask. "Let's do it."

**************************************************

Stiles couldn't decide if it was good luck or bad luck that the sky was vacant of the moon or any stars. On one hand, the night was pitch black and they'd be a lot harder to see. On the other, he could barely see his own feet and kept tripping on roots and stones on the forest floor as he followed Isaac's shadowy form.

They had driven in the Sedan, off the highway and coasted down a dirt road as far as they could before Isaac parked them on the side among thick foliage. A large gate instructed them that it was ' **PRIVATE PROPERTY- KEEP OUT** ', so they crept around the fencing until Isaac found a good spot to cut through the metal with a small but powerful cutting tool. Stiles looked on as he shouldered the bag, considerably lighter once divested of everything besides the laptop and its cables. Once inside, they walked the perimeter of the property slowly, looking for the best way to get inside one of the buildings without being seen. Like looking for a port in real life.

The land Argent had invested in wasn't some small shack, that much was for sure. Three massive warehouses sprawled across the acres, surrounded on all sides by fencing and dense forest that shielded it from the vision of anyone on the adjacent highway. They could see people who carried large guns Stiles guessed to be fully automatic weapons patrolling to and from each building, winking lights of a few cigarettes dotted the darkness.

"Derek, you there?" Isaac adjusted the volume of his radio.

"I'm here." Came the reply, buzzing in both their sets.

"Okay. Right there, the receiving doors on this side." Isaac whispered, motioning towards a relatively unguarded point. "Looks like a standard lock from here, I can get us in there in about ten seconds."

Stiles warily watched the guards walking by them at a thoroughly brisk pace. "Will we have that long?"

Isaac snorted softly. "Sure we will. Come on."

A break in the sentry's circuit gave them a precious sliver of time to creep across the distance between the forest and the entrance in question. The whole way through their shoes stuck in the soft ground, still wet and muddy from the last rain. Stiles tried to focus on moving as fast as possible, already starting to panic at the thought that any moment a whistle or gunshot would slice across the silence of the night and they'd be discovered.

Despite that fear, all was quiet and they reached the receiving doors unimpeded, climbing up a few metal steps to the smaller entrance beside the large loading docks. Isaac withdrew his lock picks and carefully selected a particular one as Stiles nervously glanced around them, listening to the gentle creaks of metal on metal.

"What if there's someone on the other side of the door?" He questioned, knowing it wasn't doing much to keep himself calm but asking anyway.

The lock clicked open and Isaac made a small noise of triumph before answering simply. "Then we're fucked."

"That's not what I was looking for," Stiles muttered back as Isaac slowly turned the knob, gun now at the ready.

As the door opened and they slipped inside, both of them froze after they had closed it behind them just as carefully. About thirty feet in front of them stood two armed guards, backs to Stiles and Isaac as they chatted casually, unknowing of the two intruders.

Stiles looked at Isaac with wide, panicked eyes, suddenly feeling way in over his head. Oh shit we're gonna get shot in like two seconds.

Isaac stared back and slowly shook his head, mouthing the words. 'Don't move'.

"You pulling the night shift again, Hank?" Guard One asked.

Guard Two, Hank, let out a groan that turned into a yawn halfway. "Yeah, third one this week."

Guard One laughed. "Who did you piss off?"

"I dunno, pay's good I guess but shit- I'm falling asleep here."

"Don't let Argent catch you taking a fuckin' cat nap on the job," Guard One warned. "He's supposed to be stopping by- routine inspection, I guess."

Hank sounded disturbed by the information. "What, he's coming here? Aw shit, man. When?"

"No idea. Couple of the guys think either tonight or tomorrow, so look sharp."

"Hah, yeah right."

The rest of their conversation went unheard as Hank yawned again to Guard One's apparent amusement as they moved down a long aisle packed with large shipping crates- identical to the ones in the harbor.

"That was way too fucking close." Stiles hissed, adrenaline flooding his veins.

Isaac smirked, still relatively calm despite their near blunder. "You're the one who wanted to play hero."

"Yeah," Stiles muttered, looking around. There were rows and rows of wide aisles, large metal crates packed two by two creating giant walls that hid them quite easily. The entire expanse of the warehouse was packed with the containers- Stiles guessed there must have been hundreds of them.

After a quick look, they crept across the open expanse and crouched behind a crate as soon as the guards they had been eavesdropping on rounded the corner at the other end.

"Okay, we're in." Isaac whispered.

"What do you see?" Came Derek's buzzing voice.

"Lots of those huge metal boxes." Stiles replied, voice low as he studied them. Plastic tags hung off all the doors, each one had something he guessed to be a lot number written on each door: **04M09F**. The doors were all secured with identical padlocked chains. "Shipping containers, I think."

"Alright," Derek grunted. "Look for any sort of legend or map on the walls. It used to be an airport hangar and there was an office in the north-east corner at one point."

"And we're looking for what exactly once- if we find it?" Isaac asked in a low voice.

"Records, shipping manifests, anything incriminating," Stiles answered quickly. "Right?"

"Right." Derek agreed after a few seconds.

"We could just open one of these up and see what he's dealing in," Isaac suggested slowly, twirling a lock pick between his fingers. "It's just a padlock-"

"No," Derek cut him off, voice buzzing with static like an angry wasp. "If someone hears you-"

"They won't," Isaac said, trying for a soothing tone as he raised a brow at Stiles. "We'll be careful. I'll even re-lock it once we're done. They won't even notice." A beat of silence. "Derek, you still there?"

"Derek?" Stiles' stomach felt leaden and heavy.

"Must be some interference out here or something," Isaac postulated as he slid the pick into the locks mechanism, setting the bag of tools down at their feet. "He'll be back. Let's see what Argent's dealing in. I'm guessing ...guns. Want to bet?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, nervously looking down the aisle as Isaac withdrew the lock and chain, impressively quiet as he set it down on the ground. "Drugs," he guessed distractedly as he silently urged Isaac to be quick about it either way.

"And behind door number one is ..." Isaac rolled the door upwards, both of them thankful it was well oiled and realizing their oversight. "... Oh fuck."

In the shadows of the shipping container, pressed into the second half, were the forms of perhaps a dozen people. Some of them looked over lazily to where Stiles and Isaac gaped but they mostly stood or sat unresponsive like zombies. Even in the low light, Stiles could see the young girl nearest him- her pupils blown wide and the clothes she wore dirty and torn like the rest in her group.

"What's ...what's wrong with them?" Stiles whispered with dread.

"I think they're ...drugged or something," Isaac answered softly, mouth set in a heavy line as he snapped a few pictures on his phone. "Derek? You there? Argent's ...he's ...he's shipping people, Derek. That fucker's a trafficker ...on a fucking epic scale, Derek, you should see all the-"

Stiles tuned the report out, staring at the human cargo as he suddenly understood the code on the door: **04M09F**.  Four male, nine female. Jesus fucking Christ ...this is ...this is so much worse than we thought it was. These people ...

"-out of there, now." Derek was back on the radio.

"Derek," Stiles swallowed, near tears as he watched the people too drugged to even consider the escape that was presented to them. "We have to help them."

"Close the door, Isaac. Lock it back up."

"We can't just leave them here!" Stiles protested, growing progressively sickened as he took in the rows and rows of crates, filling in the entire warehouse. ...Oh god, how many people are in here right now?

"You can't help them," Derek spoke firmly. "You need to keep going."

"No, Derek, we can-"

"How are you going to get them all out of there?"

Stiles chewed his lip furiously as his silence conceded that Derek was right, as much as he hated it in the moment.

"If you wait any longer, they're going to find you. Close it. Now."

Isaac grabbed the door with a heavy sigh, slowly closing it back up, the line of light inching closer to them as the darkness within the container deepened.

"I'm sorry ..." Stiles whispered as he carefully picked up the chain and lock, though the people inside gave no indication they heard.

An inch away from the bottom, the door gave a sudden deafening shriek. Stiles dropped the chain in surprise, adding the clatter to earsplitting noise they had created in seconds.

"Run! Run!" Isaac hissed as one of the guards cried out on the other side of the warehouse, the sounds of quickly approaching footsteps reached them.

Both boys scrambled away from the open crate, panicking and moving deeper into the rows by accident, twisting and turning through the aisles. The containers towered over them, all identical and lacking any sort of landmark they could use to distinguish where they were.

Stiles panted, gasping for breath as he sprinted and distantly grateful for the fear that was now powering his legs. On the wall looming ahead, he saw a sign displayed next to a wooden door, blinds drawn over the window: **INVENTORY MANAGEMENT**. "Isaac! That's the office Derek saw!"

"Isaac?" The hacker looked to his left and right and realized with a mental groan Isaac was nowhere to be found. Oh my god, really? Where the hell did you go? "Isaac! Derek? I lost Isaac." No reply came. "Goddamn it, anyone?!" Isaac's probably preoccupied at the moment- maybe he's hiding and can't speak ...or something ...and where the hell are you, Derek?

He slipped into the office, mercifully unlocked and empty to boot. It was a small room, home only to a few desks with matching desktop computers. Stiles peered out through the blinds as the guards pursuing them ran past, speaking into radios. He hoped Isaac found a good hiding place.

With a shaky sigh, he turned back to the computers resolutely keeping Derek's face in his mind along with the people trapped in the containers. Time to get what we came for, I guess. Oh shit ...shit! He realized then that they had either left the bag along with the laptop behind or at best, Isaac had grabbed it before they took off. Either way, it wasn't with Stiles and therefor not very helpful to him.

The small weight in his pocket reminded him he wasn't completely out of luck yet; Stiles withdrew the flash drive and powder, eagerly seating himself at a desk and finding a predictable log in screen waiting for him. He would need a password, but lacking another computer to manually patch in and run a decryptor, he needed a creative solution which thankfully the hacker had.

Hope this works. Stiles dumped half the contents across the keyboard in his haste, inwardly cringing at the mess but blowing most of the pile of dust off. As if by magic, the faint lines of fingerprints appeared to him, thicker and scattered on several characters that he scrawled down quickly after grabbing a pen and notepad from nearby:

**2 W E R U O A S H**

He looked at it for a few moments, brow furrowed tightly with concentration on the anagram before him. He let out a surprised, low chuckle moments later. "Seriously? 'warehouse2'? No imagination at all." He made a pleased sound in his throat as the password entered successfully.

The systems started up, loading gradually until a small noise let him know it was ready to be plundered. Folders full of records and receipts filled the screen, raked over by Stiles' clinical eye. Scanning through a few of them, his gut wrenched at the sheer amount of paperwork that signified the buying and selling of human lives. This is what Carson looks like on a grand scale, with enough power and money. He slammed the flashdrive into the USB port angrily, copying the entire folder's worth of documented crime. 

Stiles breathed deeply, forcing himself to stay collected enough to press on. Another set of records made him suspect that he and Isaac were half-right before- Warehouse 1 apparently housed equally large amounts of non-human product that Stiles assumed must be related, though it was vague on the details. If he keeps all these people drugged, he'd need a lot of the stuff. Storing it on the same site must be be convenient. Speaking of convenience ...they have complete personnel files for the people staffed here. Might as well have gift wrapped this entire fucking operation, you bastard. Let's see if this all holds up in court, motherfucker. He thought smugly, clicking open the file for a quick browse.

**GALANT, J**  
GARROT, C  
GEDERD, D  
GOLDHAGEN, I  
HABAS, M  
HAITZ, R  
HALBROOK, A  
HALE, D  
HALE, P  
HARRIS, L  
HENRY, M  
HIDES, D 

Stiles did a double-take, reading the names over again. No, that can't be right. D. Hale- is that ...Derek? Who the hell is P. Hale, then?

"Stiles? Where are you?" Isaac's voice whispered through the headset.

"Isaac?" He hesitantly answered back, still transfixed at the list of names before him. "I'm ...I'm in the office. I found the records we were looking for, but listen-"

"Did you idiots check the office?" Came a vaguely familiar voice that yelled somewhere outside the door.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He froze a brief second before making a mad dash to the door, locking it quickly and hoping it would buy him some time. A moment later he jumped backwards as the knob twisted back and forth.

"Where's the key?"

"Oh it's uh ...Jacobs has it, sir."

"Someone go find him. Now!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

Stiles listened to the conversation, turning back to the open computer. What do I do ...what do I do ... fuck it! He quickly set every file to copy but the computer system had other ideas.

**Some files are unindexed, copy anyway? (Y/N)**

Stiles jammed his finger at the 'Y' key, gritting his teeth at how slow the machine was operating.

**SYSTEM ERROR...ALL FILES MUST BE SET FOR RECOVERY BEFORE OPERATIONS WILL COMMENCE.........PLEASE DO NOT TURN OFF YOUR COMPUTER.**

"Oh my fuck, give me a break!" Stiles hissed out, slapping a hand to his forehead in exasperation as he hoped whoever Jacobs was, he was out taking a piss in the forest or something.

"Stiles, there's some guys running past- I think they're on their way to you."

"Yeah, they're right outside the door," he muttered back. "I'm okay though, I think. Just shut up for a while, I'll call you back when I'm good, okay?"

**CHECKING FILE SYSTEM.....SYSTEM MUST BE CHECKED FOR CONSISTENCY.....NOW VERIFYING FILES.....(STAGE 1 OF 3)  
1084 OF 380416 FILE RECORDS PROCESSED....**

This is fucking unreal! Stiles looked at the door worriedly, knowing the idiotic process the computer had started was going to take some time. More time than he figured he had. Biting his lip as he brushed as much of the powder off the keyboard as possible, he turned off the monitor and hoped no one wanted to check their Facebook.

"Look, get out of here, okay? Don't ...shit, don't go back to my apartment. Derek's not answering and I think ...I think something might have happened to him." Even if he had the luxury of time, Stiles was reluctant to mention the curiosity he had found in his search. I'll ask Derek about it later. If there is a later.

He had his second stroke of luck in the evening when the supply closet was also unlocked, and he slipped inside not a moment too soon as the guards outside had finally managed to get the office door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Bet you weren't expecting this so soon after the last chapter. Somehow I magically found the time. I apologize for that avalanche of cliffhangers (sorrynotsorry). I will now brace for impact. <3


	11. Murderers Are Getting Prettier Every Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when i spoke the spell  
> and i became  
> an entrance wound  
> to your bedroom grave  
> i was paid  
> with the shadow of consensual rape
> 
> (i hear the horrid voices of someone else's angels)

"Looks empty, sir."

Even with his slender frame, Stiles barely fit in the small closet. With one hand attempting to quiet his own breathing, he held onto a rack full of cleaning supplies for balance and hoped the rickety metal frame held under the extra weight he was putting on it. A bottle of cleaning solution teetered dangerously for a second and he almost made the mistake of sighing in relief when it righted itself.

Through the thin door, he could hear every word spoken and the sound of several pairs of feet heavily moving about the room. No one here ...so just leave, you fuckers. No one downloading whole hard drives, nope, definitely no one hiding in this supply closet.

A brief pause of what Stiles hoped was mounting frustration. " ...Do another sweep and we'll move on to two and three then." God, who is that? I know that voice ...

"Yes, sir."

Stiles felt his muscles relax at the sounds of the office door shutting and the footsteps receding behind it. He waited a few moments, counting the minutes in his head just to be safe.

The hacker poked his head out hesitantly, taking in the empty office and immediately checking on the computer where he was secretly downloading Argent's entire operation. The monitor had remained off and the flash drive was still in place. Would've been a lot more ...exciting if they saw that. Dumbasses. Switching on the monitor, he could see all the processes were done and he was now one severely incriminating flash drive richer.

With a lopsided grin, he grabbed it and padded over to the door, tentatively peeking through the blinds. Coast looks clear, time to get the fuck out of here. Stiles opened the door, whispering into the radio. "Isaac, I'm good now, where-"

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Stiles."

Shit. Just ...shit. He swallowed, eye level with the three rifles pointed at his chest as Chris Argent smiled coolly, arms crossed behind them. He looked out of place in the rough surroundings of the warehouse, dressed in his signature pressed suit.

"Hand it over."

Stiles curled his fingers over the flash drive uselessly, a sinking feeling told him it was a useless attempt at concealment. He grit his teeth, trying to keep calm while the excessive weaponry was on him. I just messed up bad. Really bad. "Go f-fuck yourself."

Chris made a tsking sound and strode forward, plucking the device out of Stiles' hand easily with deft hands. He looked down at the hacker, shaking his head with a bemused smile. "Did you think I wouldn't notice this?" He pocketed the drive and gestured towards the men he commanded. "Take him to the basements. I'll deal with him as soon we find the other one."

All of Stiles' defiant anger was snuffed out in an instant, replaced by freezing cold fear as two of the men grabbed him roughly by the arms. By the wry, pleased expression Chris wore, he could tell the man was instantly aware of the effect the words had on him. He seemed to be interested by Stiles' obvious reaction compared to the guns previously aimed at him.

"I hope you're not afraid of the dark, Stiles. Or small spaces." Chris' eyes were ice chips that crinkled at the edges with his calm smile. "I'll just hold onto this as well," he said as he took the headset off Stiles' head, studying it for a moment. "You won't be needing it anymore."

"NO! NO, LET ME GO!" The stunned panic he was in cracked and Stiles screeched in terror, his screams echoing throughout the building interior as he twisted and fought against the men holding him to no avail as they dragged him away.

**************************************************

He was in darkness again. Through the endless black, he couldn't begin to see the details of his prison. It didn't matter- he knew it well enough, could feel the coolness of the stone around him like a tomb. The sounds of water trickling somewhere in the distance.

The chair they had strapped him into was a new touch. Usually part of his punishment was monotony: the lack of anything else in the room to grab his attention besides the burning bulb and the identical walls, the heavy steel door. He struggled against the bonds half-heartedly before settling back, thankful at least for the opportunity to rest.

He's lost sense of time again- how long has it been? One moment he was ...where was he? He was in the labs with Danny, that's right. Maybe it would be the last time ...at least for a while and he could spend more time with Danny. He remembered the late night conversations, whispered between their beds as he picked the older boy's brain with incessant questions about code, programming, anything he would teach him.

A dull horror swept over the memory as he remembered the girl with the blown out pupils in a dirty dress, looking at him with dead eyes- no, when did that happen? There were no girls at Elmond House. It must have been a dream. Something the Sheriff must have told him, a case or something. Danny was going to teach him how to play lacrosse, the other boys too- even Derek, the tall one with the beautiful eyes, green and grey like oxidized iron. No, who was that? He didn't know a Derek.

Yes he did. Derek. Derek. Scott? Isaac. Lydia. C- Erica. B-b .. Boyd? He was getting confused at the torrent of names in his head. Who were those people? He knows them, he knows he knows them.

Slowly little facts and anecdotes spilled down like drops of water hitting his face. Scott ...roommate. Lydia, at the bank. The bank he helped rob. Why did he do that? He just desperately wanted to understand the scattered thoughts. Derek. Derek's family, all dead.

"You shouldn't have come here."

He gasped at the voice, too lost in the struggle to remember to hear the cell door open. As he digested the statement, he felt a puzzlement at that as well. What did the doctor mean? If it wasn't for his Dad, he definitely wouldn't have come there of his own free will. Not in a thousand years.

"Ah well. We've both learned from the misake. I won't be stiffing the security budget anymore and you ...well, how am I going to explain this to your father?"

"I ...don't understand- Sir." He hastily added, flinching at the blow he knew was already headed his way.

The doctor laughed though he sounded slightly confused.

"Sir? That's ...unusually formal all of a sudden. You must be really- wait. Who do you think I am, exactly?"

He trembled violently in the chair. The question was obviously designed to trick him, to make him mess up. He knew the man was waiting for his answer, though his patience was just a facade as Stiles knew too well. Sweat trickled down his forehead into his eyes and he blinked it away furiously. "Doctor ...Carson? ...Sir?" He bit his lip, praying that was the right answer.

"No, not quite."

The lights blazed on suddenly, his vision going a painful white as he struggled to focus his sight. Carson stood in front with him, suit neatly pressed as usual. What was he expecting Stiles to say? He didn't understand. He blinked as the room came into focus, not the stone cell he was expecting but a storage room of sorts, lined with barrels and boxes stacked up neatly. A large receiving door dominated one wall almost completely. Carson was nowhere to be found with the face of the man coming into view, younger though they both shared the same cold eyes.

Chris Argent leaned against a work desk, arms crossed and studying the bound hacker with interest. "Seems John downplayed certain ...quirks you have. I don't think I've ever broken someone that fast before."

Stiles stared at the Mayor, choked and overwhelmed as he came back to the present. Not dreams ...it happened. All of it happened. He's going to kill me, kill Isaac, kill my Dad, kill ...Derek.

"Don't go into hysterics yet, Stiles." Chris spoke casually as the hacker began to hyperventilate. "I have some questions before I decide what to do with you." He held up a pair of pliers previously resting behind him on the surface of the desk, holding them up so Stiles could see. "I think you're smart enough to know what happens if you're not helpful."

"F-fuck you." He whispered, the tears springing unbidden and running down his reddened face.

The man smiled, setting the tool down and opening his hands in a mockery of a pleading gesture. "There's no need for that. I'll give you a free pass for that one- only because I think you don't completely understand your options yet. So, first question: who robbed my bank? I know you were involved but I doubt you're the mastermind behind it, am I right? Who was it?"

Stiles stared down at the floor, chest heaving with fear but defiant nonetheless. Not telling you shit, fuck you fuck you fuck you-

"I lost quite a bit from that little stunt, Stiles. The money, yes, but more importantly the trust of my ...investors. Trust is a difficult thing to repair, wouldn't you agree?" He closed the distance between them, grabbing Stiles by the throat and shaking him in the chair as the boy sputtered for breath.

"You think the worst I can do is torture you? How about this: I keep you down here in the dark and one by one, everyone you care about comes to keep you company. Your father, that idiot my daughter's so fond of?" He paused a second to release the boy and let his intimidation sink in. "Not a whole lot of people who care about you, but those two are probably enough."

Stiles stared up at him then, the hate trumping his terror for the moment. He gave the slightest of nods, still trying to catch his breath as angry red hand prints appeared on his skin.

Chris smiled. "Excellent. Should I repeat my question one last time?"

The hacker hesitated, swallowing painfully as he readied his bluff. "I-I don't know their n-names."

"I'm not sure I believe that, Stiles." Chris picked up the pliers, twirling them idly in his hands.

"Fuck you, it's true," he snapped, willing his voice to remain steady and free of any stutter successfully. "They never told me. They're just some crooks, they wanted your money, they hired me to do computer work. That's it, I swear." Come on, come on, come on-

The Mayor narrowed his eyes. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Just ...just part of the job," Stiles tried to shrug nonchalantly in his bonds. "Figured you had something important going on here, and they were right." A fresh surge of anger and disgust powered him at the discovery. "How can ...how can you do this? All those people ..."

Argent rolled his eyes. "Profit, Stiles, profit. The drug business is fine but the trafficking game? It's booming. It's ...occasionally messy, but quite rewarding if you know how to clean up after yourself. How do you think the city pays for all its projects? The libraries, the new parks, our hospitals and schools?"

Stiles listened to the speech in mounting horror, aghast at the pride exhibited rather than any remorse.

"Even if I ceased all exports tomorrow, it wouldn't take more than a month for Beacon City to crumble financially. See, I'm not a bad guy, Stiles. I could have kept all that money for myself- and trust me, you have no idea how much of it passes through my fingers, but I pour it back into the city. I keep the blood pumping through it. I keep it alive."

"You're sick," the hacker spit. "The end doesn't ... it doesn't justify the means."

"Of course it does," Chris smiled. "You're just too young. You don't understand the way this world works yet. You need to look at the big picture." He opened and closed the pliers absently. "I'll give you a quick lesson right now, free of charge."

"No, no," Stiles gasped as the teeth of the pliers were fitted around the piercing in his septum, unable to move against the back of the chair. He tried to shrink away from the cold metal against his skin but there was nowhere to go. Derek, Derek, someone, fuck-

Chris paused, hands holding the handles tightly, suddenly deadly still. "What did you just say?"

Stiles didn't reply, terrified eyes glued to what he could see of the metal jaws attached to his face, the piercing already pulling painfully causing his eyes to water anew. Shit, shit, you said that out loud you-

The Mayor looked down at him with a soured expression as he suddenly withdrew the tool and threw it back on the desk with a clatter. "Derek Hale. Of course. It's been ...some time, I'd nearly forgotten."

"He hasn't forgotten anything. He's going to kill you." Stiles muttered angrily though Derek's name in the employee files came to mind uncomfortably. There's an explanation for it, I know there is.

Chris didn't seem particularly worried, giving a quiet sigh as if merely exasperated. "He's certainly going to try, I'll give you that." He regarded the police chief's son with a puzzled look. "How on earth did you get involved with that psychopath?"

Stiles glared even as he shook, silently fuming both at Argent and himself for his slip-up. "That's a bit rich coming from you."

Argent wasn't listening to him any longer, a cell phone in his hand pressed to his ear as he spoke in a hurried tone. "The situation has changed. Get everyone over here, now- I want a tight perimeter around the building and every entrance covered in twos and threes. Call me when they're in place." He hung up briskly, regarding Stiles a brief moment. "Sorry, Stiles, I've got to run. We'll chat more when things calm down."

"Hey!" Stiles called out at the man's retreating back. "You can't leave me here!"

Chris paused, turning back to throw an evil look over his shoulder. "Actually, you're right. I can't." He marched back over, opening the drawers in the desk and looking for something. "I was just thinking, your dad's a good guy- hard to find these days. He works so hard for so little, and I like that about him. It'd be a shame to put down such a reliable work horse, so it'll be easier if you just ...disappear instead, what do you think?"

Stiles opened his mouth to launch another barb at the man but snapped it closed in fear at the syringe Argent produced and filled with a clear liquid with a hum as he continued.

"John will be devasted when he hears what happened. It'll be like this: I heroically kill Derek but Derek, the villain of this story, kills you first, they never find your body and I get elected for another term. 'Short and sweet, nice and neat' as my mother used to say. Now tell me, have you traveled much?" He didn't wait for a reply, laughing softly as his hand grasped the doorknob. "Ever wanted to visit Asia? I bet I can get a good price for you on the Chinese market."

"No, no, get away from me!" He struggled to free himself but the belts keeping him in place wouldn't give at all. How many people have sat here before me?

"Shh ...it'll be better for you soon, I promise. I'm not sure what compounds make up this particular cocktail, but from what I can see it's quite effective a sedative." He grunted as he drew the rubber tourniquet tight around Stiles' arm, starting to slap his arm to bring his veins out of hiding.

"No ...please, no," the hacker moaned, sweat running down his skin in hot rivulets. "Don't do this!"

Chris frowned impatiently at the skin under his hands, the boy's pleas falling on uncaring ears. Stiles' numerous tattoos were making it difficult for him to locate a good place. "I'll never understand why- ah, there we go."

The prick of the needle puncturing his skin ripped a scream from his throat, the soundtrack to the burn of whatever drug was about to pumped into his bloodstream.

The sound was lost in the sudden roar of the door to the room he was prisoner in exploding inwards with a fiery blast of force and smoke. Argent reared back in surprise, the needle yanked from Stiles' vein and discharging its contents on the floor below where it shattered.

As smoke filled the room, Stiles fought to keep focus as the small amount of drug Chris had managed to inject him with made his vision blur and his thoughts unsteady. He could see the man prone on the floor, having slipped in the spilled liquid and apparently getting a nasty knock to his head from the corner of the desk behind him. Someone ...was calling his name. "Der- Dere ..."

"Stilinski!"

His head lolled back in the chair. His whole body felt like it was boneless and trying to keep his own head upright proved too strenuous. Stiles laid back and watched lazily as one of the guards took off his hat to reveal long, blonde hair. The sight made him smile and he let out a nervous giggle. "Derek ...does- doesn't have ... You're not-"

Erica crouched down in front him, concerned at his lack of cognition. "Stilinski, can you even hear me? Oh Jesus. A little help here?"

Boyd stepped out of the cloud of smoke, grimly surveying the scene of Argent unconscious on the ground, Erica looking up at him with disquiet, and Stiles' stab of panic upon seeing his face.

"N-no, no, you- you, you're the wolf," he babbled, knowing his words were garbled but suddenly lacking the coordination to get them out in an intelligent manner. "It was- was ...you, you-"

"He's fucked up," Boyd stated bluntly as he ignored Stiles' discomfort and began to help Erica work on loosening the belts that held him in place. "We gotta get moving- they probably heard the door blow."

Erica nodded along as she freed the hacker's feet which he wiggled around happily as the feeling started to return to them. "Why the hell did you and Isaac think you could do this alone anyway, Stilinski? I pegged you for a mouse, not Batman."

Stiles hesitated a second, still vaguely uncomfortable in Boyd's presence but let a small, proud grin creep onto his face. "I'm ...Batman?"

"Yeah, you are," Erica snorted, shaking her head fondly. "And I'm Catwoman."

"Where's your ...lea- leather suit ...?" Stiles pouted, disappointed even as he looked around distractedly at the billowing smoke beginning to fade away into wispy tendrils.

"I left it at the dry cleaners," she muttered, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth as she worked on a stubborn buckle. "So? Why are you here?"

Stiles looked down, suddenly grave with the thought. "Derek's family ...are all d-dead. A-Argent k-killed them." He let out a nervous giggle he couldn't stop. Oh man oh man I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, Derek's gonna ..gonna ...

"Huh." Boyd huffed out as he tore the last of the restraints off. "Come on Batman, time to go to the Batmobile."

Stiles eyes grew wide and excited, forgetting he was supposed to be wary of Boyd. "We ...we have the- the-"

"Yeah, we do," Boyd rolled his eyes impatiently. "But if you wanna ride in it we gotta go now, alright?"

"I don't think I- I can walk," the hacker mumbled, trying to stand and failing miserably. "I can't ...I can't use my legs, I'm- I'm paralyzed, what-"

"Shh, shh," Erica grabbed an arm and hauled him to his feet. "You're okay. Hold onto me and Boyd, okay?"

"Okay ..." Stiles replied sadly, barely grasping at the material of their clothing with fingers that wouldn't quite do what he wanted of them. "Wait- wait," a stray lucid thought shot out through the fog he was in. Something that was important. "The ...the flash ...flash."

"Huh?"

Stiles tried to motion towards Argent's body, succeeding in a sort of floppy gesture that proved good enough. "He- he has ...pocket ..."

With a raised brow, Erica glanced down and reluctantly pawed through Argent's clothes, coming up with the flash drive between two fingers. "Is this ...?"

The hacker grabbed it, holding it tightly with a little but pleased smile. "Der-Derek gave it to me ..."

Erica smiled back weakly. "That's great, Stilinski. Time to go, okay?"

"What about him?" Boyd nodded towards the Mayor, still unconscious on the floor.

"Fuck him." Erica replied, her lip curled in disgust. "Let's go."

Stiles nodded back through the exchange, eager to leave as Boyd and Erica supported him up an arduous set of stairs. It took them some time but they eventually made it to the top. He felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude for their help in escaping the dark confines of the basement. Oh no there's only two...I forgot ... "I ...Isaac? Where-"

"He's fine," Erica said quietly, looking around as they emerged on the ground floor of the warehouse. "He's waiting outside for us. We need to be quiet now, okay, Stilinski? Can you do that for me?" Maybe Derek's waiting there too.

With that thought settling him somewhat, they crept somewhat awkwardly past rows of boxes through an area Stiles and Isaac hadn't seen before. It was an older area that seemed to be mostly used for more storage. Pins and needles danced in Stiles' feet and up his legs as the feeling slowly started to return to them the further they went through the maze-like structure.

Boyd nodded towards a door that had come into view, a tiny red exit sign glowing above it like a beacon. "There it is."

The fluorescent lighting above them went out with his words, plunging the whole building into darkness. By the steady hum that started seconds later, it appeared a back-up generator existed and was close to their current position. Eventually it would kick in but for the moment they were in the dark.

"What's happening?" Stiles whispered, clinging tightly to Erica's arm.

"I don't know," Erica whispered back, squinting in the dark and trying to guess where the door had been. "Come on, let's get out of-."

A door slammed somewhere in the distance, followed by the muffled sounds of someone in distress.

"Someone's coming," Boyd hissed. "Over here!"

Just as they deposited Stiles behind a stack of boxes and crouched down next to him, another door slammed open. This time it was one in the same room they were hidden. Heavy footsteps echoed off the ceilings, coming right next to the trio and passing into the middle of the room.

Stiles peeked over the edge of the boxes, willing his vision to focus just a little more but the low light prevented him from seeing much beyond a black shape- until the emergency lights came on moments later. Stray beams casted strange, long shadows that distorted everything they touched. It was clear enough to Stiles, Erica, and Boyd, however, who it was- much to Stiles' surprise.

To the beat of Stiles' racing heart, Derek strode quickly across the length of the floor, gun in hand and looking around as if trying to get his bearings or perhaps decide which path to take. A shadow hid most of his face but the side Stiles could see wore a cold emptiness that tied his stomach into one big knot. He's not limping ...guess his leg is all better. The thought rang untrue but he clung to it like a safety blanket of sorts. He's better now ...and all alone, he needs me-

"D-mmph!" He tried to get the man's attention but Erica quickly covered his mouth his hand and dragged him back down out of sight. What ...?!

"Just trust me, Stilinski." Erica muttered as quietly as she dared, taking another peek from around the edge of their hiding place.

One of the side doors opened and a man, one of Argent's guards entered. Derek had apparently seen him at the same time, quickly stepping silently out of the light and behind a shelf. Stiles and the others could see the guard unknowingly move closer and closer to where their former leader waited.

As he passed by him, Derek stepped back where the lights illuminated him. Come on, Derek, get out of here, what the hell are you doing ... His gun now tucked into his belt, he moved quickly behind the guard with a calm, deadly confidence in his movements. A sickening crunch of bone reached them as he grabbed the guard by the head and twisted as hard as he could, snapping the man's neck easily and watching uninterested as the body crumpled to his feet.

Stiles held back a gasp at the display of brutal violence, Erica and Boyd grimly looking on, not surprised at all by the murder. You ...you didn't have to kill him. You could have let him go. Derek studied the dead man a moment, the light shining behind him obscuring his features and at the same time revealing him as shadowy death incarnate.

Sudden gunshots made them cringe back into the shadows, Chris and several men entering and immediately firing on Derek who had dived down the floor, rolling away even as he returned fire. The Mayor's aim was a little unsteady, a thin trickle of blood running down the side of his head. Despite the injury, he still seemed fixated on his target. One of his men took a hit to the chest right next to him but Argent didn't seem to notice, pumping out three shots in rapid succession.

Boyd was shoving at them to move and soon they were creeping past the gunfight while both parties were distracted, getting closer and closer to the exit. The incessant sounds of gunshots drowned out any noise they might have made, and as they opened the door Boyd grabbed Stiles and all but pushed him out after Erica before closing it behind them as fast as he could.

"Come on, move, move!" He barked. A few guards were running towards the noisy battle coming from inside the warehouse and didn't even notice the three of them, quiet and still in the stealth the night afforded them. "Isaac's just up the road where you parked before."

"But ..." Stiles turned back to the warehouse, taking a few tottering steps by himself. The cool night air was rapidly sobering him up. "They're ...they're gonna kill him."

Erica took him gently by the shoulders and pulled him away through the muddy ground that was even wetter than before thanks to a drizzling rain that had just begun. "I don't want to sound like an insensitive bitch here, Stilinski, but maybe that's for the best."

"What are you saying?!" Stiles shrugged her off angrily, bewildered at the mutiny he was witnessing.

"We don't have time for this," Boyd growled at the two of them. "Let's go!"

"No! No we do have time for this." Stiles snapped back, a slight wobble still in his legs. "We can't just leave him in there!"

Erica scowled but quickly schooled her expression and gave a sigh. "Stilinski ...ugh, didn't you notice him walk in there just now? With his legs? Legs that were working just fine?"

"So?" Stiles glared defiantly, a headache beginning to throb at his temples.

The two rescuers shared a look before Boyd spoke, in a surprisingly gentle rumble. "Remember when we left last night?"

"Yeah, when you ditched-"

"We went back to the docks," Boyd continued, refusing to let Stiles rile himself up and interrupt his explanation. "And we got a good look before the cops started picking through it."

Erica looked at Boyd again before continuing. "Derek said Argent's boys were there, that they were shooting at him and started the fire."

"Yeah? A-and?" Stiles' bottom lip started to tremble.

"He- oh shit, Stilinski. I- We don't think there was anyone else there."

No, that doesn't make any sense. "What are you saying?" He wiped at his eyes, looking out at the black trees instead of at the people speaking to him in that gentle way he was sick of. "Derek ...lied? Derek started the fire and was shooting at ...who?"

"There were bullet casings, Stiles," Boyd grunted, starting to lose patience. "Not very many, and only from one gun."

"No." He replied simply, starting to shake all over. "No, I don't believe that. There's an explanation. There has to be. He wouldn't start a ...start a fire, of all things. That's- that's how they died, he wouldn't-" 

"Okay, okay," Erica relented in a soothing voice. "Let's say there is. That doesn't change anything now though- Derek's a big boy, he can take care of himself. We have to get out of here. Now."

Stiles crossed his arms defiantly, digging his feet into the soft ground beneath them. "Fine, get out of here then. I'm- I'm going back in for him- NO, PUT ME DOWN!" He cried out, voice breaking as Boyd grabbed him and slung him over his shoulder, carrying him easily as Erica trailed hurriedly behind whispering platitudes to try and calm him. "DEREK! DEREK!"

"Shh, Stilinski. Just trust us, please," Erica begged, sounding near tears herself. "Please be quiet, you're going to get us all killed!"

"FUCK YOU! FUCK BOTH OF YOU! LET ME GO!"

He fought, pounding his fists into Boyd's back but the man might have well as been a golem for all the good it did. He could see the dark spots his tears were leaving on the back of Boyd's jacket and knew deep down that something was terribly wrong, that things weren't adding up. It was the terror that his fantasies would never be realized, that he was about to start slipping backwards, that kept him fighting even as the warehouse of human lives blurred with his tears into a smeared shape, looming in the dark.

**************************************************

Isaac looked up from the laptop open on his lap in surprise as the back door was opened suddenly. His mouth fell open in surprise as Boyd threw Stiles in beside him and slammed the door closed with an exasperated grunt.

"Where have you guys been? It's been almost an hour!" He asked as Boyd slid into the driver's seat, Erica taking shotgun and flicking the door locks closed before Stiles had up-righted himself.

"We ran into some issues?" Erica supplied weakly as Stiles began snarling at them under his breath and kicking at the door.

"I see that," Isaac said slowly, amazed at the level of aggression coming from the boy. "Stiles? You alright?"

"No, I am not fucking alright, Isaac," Stiles snapped as he tugged at the mechanism, trying in vain to open the child locks. "I'm being KIDNAPPED because these ASSHOLES want to leave Derek back there TO DIE."

"You'll thank us later, now shut up." Boyd growled at him, glaring in the rear view mirror as he put the car into drive and they began to speed down the dirt road.

"Go FUCK YOURSELF!" Stiles roared as Isaac cringed beside him, unsure what to say or do that wouldn't invoke more of the hacker's sudden rage.

Erica sighed tiredly. "Babe, not helping. You drive, we'll do the talking."

As the car picked up speed, Stiles realized he was trapped even as he wore himself out and slumped into the backseat. He looked at the laptop screen with a dull shadow of his usual curiosity, not paying attention to Isaac's questioning of him until it became obvious he wasn't going to let up. He finally got irritated enough to respond. "What?"

"I asked if you found anything in the records." Isaac repeated softly.

Stiles froze. That's right ...do I say anything? ...Yeah- there might be something in there that cleans this mess up, that explains everything. Derek ...he's a double agent, working to bring him down from the inside. Yeah, that's it. "Erica has the flash drive." He mumbled, staring out the window.

"Let's see it," Isaac took the drive from Erica and plugged the device into the laptop, watching as the multitude of files Stiles has stolen slowly appeared to him. "This is pretty extensive, I think-"

"Look in the personnel files," Stiles cut him off in a quiet, empty voice. The raindrops ran down jagged paths on the other side of the glass. "Go down to 'H'."

"Sure," Isaac replied slowly, doing as the hacker asked. "Holy shit."

"What?" Erica twisted around her seat.

Isaac swallowed nervously. "Uh, Derek's in here."

"I know. What does it say?" Stiles whispered as Boyd and Erica both cursed at the same time, his forehead soothingly cold against the window as he waited for an answer with tightly closed eyes.

"He ...used to work for Argent, I don't believe this." Used to ...used to, that's a good sign, right? "Only a couple years ago, with ...Peter Hale? Are they related then?"

Stiles couldn't stand it anymore- it wasn't fast enough to placate him. He wordlessly grabbed the computer from Isaac and looked for himself, studying both files open at the same time. The first thing his eyes gravitated towards was the slightly younger looking black and white portrait of Derek, terribly beautiful even then- cocky, defiant, somber all at once.

Peter Hale stared back at him with the same confidence present even in the simple photograph. He looks like a sarcastic asshole, just a feeling, I guess. The other man's file wasn't noteworthy besides a bold update to the bottom that proclaimed him: **DECEASED**.

His brow furrowed as he went back to Derek's file. At the end there was a variety of information on him and his family which included-

"Phone numbers? Looks like out of state too, judging by the area codes." Isaac stretched over to read beside Stiles. "Contact information for his next of kin. Richard and Susan Hale?"

"They're dead," Stiles muttered darkly, the last embers of anger starting to die within him and replaced by a pure coldness he felt in his bones. "His whole family is dead."

"Somehow I'm starting to doubt that," Erica quipped dryly as they pulled onto the highway, the bumps that had been jostling them smoothing out with the asphalt. "Just a feeling."

Stiles took a deep breath, the sides of the road speeding by much like his thoughts. Faster and faster, further and further away. "Give me your phone."

Isaac blinked. "What?"

"Give me your phone!" The hacker repeated, a faint note of hysteria entering his voice even as Isaac complied. "I'll call it, right now. I'll call it and it'll be out of service or something."

"Stilinski ..." Erica started to protest but trailed off into silence, biting her knuckle and staring out the windshield unhappily as she held Boyd's hand tightly with the other.

"Everybody just ...just shut up for a second," he snapped as he punched in the numbers with a shaking hand.

One ring in he had to wipe his sweaty palms on the side of his pants so he wouldn't drop Isaac's phone. Please be someone else. Please don't pick up. Please say the Hales have been dead for years. Please please please ... Stiles felt a twinge of guilt for wishing death on someone else but as the fourth ring went by, he started to feel a tiny glimmer of hope. All that worrying for nothing, now we can turn around and go rescue Derek. He's still alive, he has to be. He was about to tell- no, demand Boyd turn the car around when someone picked up.

"Hello? Sorry, I was vacuuming!"

A cheerful if somewhat out of breath voice answered, the pleasant voice of the woman a dirge in his ear. Stiles couldn't breathe, could hardly think to reply.

"Hello? Are you still there?"

"Is ...is this the Hale residence?" The words left him on their own, automatic and hollow.

"Yep, the one and only. You're probably looking for my parents though, I'm just a visitor."

Stiles knew he should hang up, the tendrils of dread squeezing around his heart, his lungs, were making it hard to breathe, hard to carry on the conversation but a morbid need kept him on the phone as the others looked on, silent and grim as tombstones. "Who," he licked the dryness off his lips. "Who am I speaking to?"

"I'm their daughter, Laura. They're just running some errands, they should be back in an hour or so. Did you want to call back or leave a message ...?"

"He needs to pay, Stiles." The man intoned quietly. "He needs to pay for everything he's done. For my parents, for Cora."

"Laura," Stiles automatically corrected. Derek looked at him strangely so he repeated the name uncomfortably. "Laura? Your sister's name was Laura, right?"

Derek was silent for a moment and Stiles experienced a rush of fear that he'd offended somehow. "...No," Derek spoke slowly. "No, Cora was my sister. You must have misheard."

"No, no thank you," he muttered, a chill running down his spine.

"Okay, goodnight then."

"Wait!" Stiles blurted out, cringing at the awkward pause before the woman replied hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Can I ...can I speak to your brother ...please?" Please say no, you don't have any siblings. Please.

A tense silence immediately evaporated any cheer coming over the line. Only hearing the faint sound of breathing told Stiles she was still there. "Is this a joke?"

"No! No, I'm ...I'm a friend of ...Derek's."

"Let me tell you something," The woman was obviously upset, her voice shaking with held back emotions. "If this is a ...a prank or something, it's not very fucking funny. You're lucky my mother didn't answer and hear this garbage, because then you'd be really, really sorry. I'm hanging up now- go to hell, asshole."

"Laura wait! Please! I really do know Derek! He's tall, dark hair, green eyes, uh ...uh, he always wears a leather jacket?" Stiles wildly scoured his brain for facts about Derek he could use. "You're both related to a ..Peter Hale? Is that right? Hello?"

Stiles glanced at the screen- the call was still connected.

"How do you know these things? I haven't seen Derek or my Uncle in almost five years." Laura spoke again after a moment, a quiet sadness Stiles took for grief laced with pain creeping through the phone.

"I- I really am a friend of Derek's! Please, you've got to believe me."

Laura laughed bitterly, a sound Stiles wasn't expecting at all. "Look, whoever you are, let's say I do. If you're smart, you'll get as far away from him as you can. My brother is ...he's sick and-" Another voice, suddenly muffled possibly by Laura's hand over the phone, spoke in the background. "No one, mom. Just a telemarketer. You really need to change phone numbers." Laura's voice dropped the easy lightness and returned in a hissing whisper of a threat. "Don't ever call us again."

The line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we're on the last major bend here! Pretty exciting. Not the huge chapter I've been promising, I keep pushing stuff back to #12 storywise. I'm expecting that one to be a monster. Sooo thanks to everyone still reading- you're almost there!! :) xo


	12. Born Villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> there is a taste for blood   
> and it's something deep inside   
> you’ll have to cut it down   
> and burn me into splinters   
> or i’ll unwrap the string  
>  that was me   
> around your finger
> 
>  
> 
> (i don't ever want god to hear our screams and mistake them for prayers)  
> 

Isaac pried the phone out of Stiles' trembling hands, looking disturbed at what he had overheard of the conversation with Derek's sister, who was apparently still very much alive. Erica had glanced back, trying to find Stiles' eyes as Boyd drove them on through the night, but he saw nothing in front of him. The last dregs of what Laura had said ran through his head.

Why? Why would he ...lie about something like that? Was it just to get my help? He didn't have to do that- I probably would've anyway. What about the docks? Erica and Boyd said- no, Boyd can't be trusted. I can't trust any of them. What the hell am I going to do now? I wish- fuck, I wish Derek was here.

Stiles started to quietly cry in the backseat, aware Isaac was watching uncomfortably but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. He wanted to get away from all of them, to go back to the lack of a life he had before he met them. At the same time, he wanted the comfort that had come with Derek's presence in his life- the confidence, the protection, the attention and unprecedented emotions that came with him. He kept you safe, at least he tried to- who else could say that? Dad? Scott? Lydia? Who else stepped in and helped you just because they wanted to? So he lied a little- everyone lies. Everyone in this car has lied to you at some point.

"Stiles?" Erica asked gently, tearing up a little herself at seeing the hacker so distressed. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but ...somehow, it's going to be okay."

"Shooooow meeeee, shooow meee howwww, shoooww meee who you arrree..." Sang the woman on the radio. Boyd had turned it on to fill the awkward silence and Stiles was inclined to echo her sentiments.

**************************************************

 

"More coffee, sir?"

He gestured absently at the empty cup, staring intently out the window of the diner without a word. The waitress gave him his refill and stalked away with a quiet sound of exasperation at his rudeness. It didn't matter. He could easily be charming, charismatic- when he wanted to be. However, it was a little past seven and he wasn't a morning person. One of his cohorts sat beside him, typing on a laptop and knowing to stay quiet when he was in one of his notoriously foul moods. Again, the reputation didn't bother him, not even among the people who worked with him. Better to keep them on their toes.

His contact had given him a pathetic excuse of a list- only a handful of individuals to select from for his next job. First up was one "Stiles" Stilinski, only twenty-one and with quite the muddled set of records. He snorted to himself as he read through the file, having doubts about this "promising young man" that had been pointed out to him. He was a child, and besides- what a stupid name. However, he was supposed to be the best in the city if his contact proved their usual accuracy. Whatever.

Unfortunately, a more pressing matter on his mind than the boy's peculiar name was the fact that he was the son of the Beacon City Chief of Police. He would've immediately gone elsewhere but out of three possible choices, he had to admit he couldn't afford to be picky. Not at this stage of the game when things were about to get interesting. And who knew, it might somehow turn out to be a boon in his favour in the long run, maybe some leverage he could use against Argent's cronies.

So he sat in the shitty little diner for hours, waiting across the street from the apartment where the boy lived. Waiting for visual confirmation, a chance to size him up at first glance.

Derek almost laughed when the hacker- the boy burst through the front doors, awkward limbs flailing about, red in the face. He watched, amused, as the boy walked through the people quickly, his head bowed and shoulders hunched. The bemusement turned to irritation as he began to suspect his time was being wasted. The hacker seemed to be afraid of everything that moved if his body language was to be believed, even from that distance away. What use would he be in the shadowed morality Derek presumed to drag him into?

"Erica and Boyd are following him now, Derek. Erica says he's on his phone arguing with someone, said it got pretty chilly."

That could be interesting. He didn't imagine Stiles had many friends for some reason.

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

He thought it was probably a waste of time but kept that opinion to himself for the moment. "...Let me know when he gets to the bank. He has computer access there?"

"Pretty sure."

"We'll make contact after he gets there then. Leave the computer and go meet the others."

**************************************************

"Stilinski, come on. You have to-"

"I don't want to talk about it." Why is that so goddamn hard to understand? Just leave me alone.

Isaac spoke up hesitantly, his voice a shade quieter than Erica's. "It's not your fault. He played all of us, we're just ...pawns on a chessboard to him."

"That's not true, it's not!" A fresh sob shook in Stiles' chest as he turned away to curl into the door protectively. Isn't it though? Didn't everything lead to Derek's benefit? No, he saved me that night in the alley. He likes me. He said so. I know that wasn't a lie. It wasn't.

**************************************************

Even though he had sent the others to keep tabs on Stiles, he found himself wandering the streets nearby as soon as Isaac alerted him to the hacker leaving the building. He had been waiting for a reply to the email he had sent but sitting there doing nothing was steadily driving him crazy. The email he sent was cryptic, less blunt than he would've liked, but he had a feeling the bait would be enough.

He crossed one of the busy city streets, paying no heed to the people milling about. They would scurry about like insects, their small lives of no significance to him now or ever. Just by chance, he saw Stiles up ahead duck into a small eatery- Jesse's, and before he realized it he was following dangerously close behind and into the building.

Hanging around the door after Stiles entered, only intending a quick, closer look, his eyes caught a hint of black- an inch or so of tattooed skin poking up above the boy's collar. He was staring, unsure of how it had been when there was some sort of disturbance at the front of the line where Stiles was.

Another guy was tearing a strip off the hacker, something about the jacket he was wearing. Derek could see it was splattered with the remains of someone's lunch. He watched as Stiles cowered at the display of aggression and stuttered a mouthful of needless apologies. Couldn't he see it wouldn't do him any good? He noted how the angry boy zeroed in on Stiles with an almost predatory gaze, hostility radiating from him and growing worse at the timid response he was getting. There was a sort of kinship with him though- he understood the reaction perfectly when he looked on the hacker's pathetic, quivering form.

When Stiles was shoved to the floor, something inside him ground to a halt along with his current line of thought. Again he found himself stepping forward without deciding to intervene.

"Leave him alone."

The angry boy blinked at the sudden interruption of a large hand pushing him back a step- Derek doubted he was aware of anyone else in the entire building before he had stepped in between him and the boy still prone on the floor.

"Hey, you touch me again my father'll sue your ass. David Whittemore, attorney. Ever heard of him?"

Derek felt himself grin, showing off a mouth of perfect white teeth. He imagined the display reminded Whittemore of a shark about to devour its prey. As much as he empathized, he needed the hacker intact- it couldn't be allowed to go any further.

"I don't give a fuck who your dad is, pretty boy. How about you leave before I break your arms?" He spoke calmly, watching as his threat him home with satisfaction.

"You don't scare me," Whittemore tried for a sneering disdain but the fear in his eyes was more obvious than he would've liked. "Whatever, not even worth it."

Derek watched him go with pleasure at how their encounter went, making a mental note to pay him and his family a visit in the future. He turned back to Stiles, taking in the way his eyes darted back and forth like a scared animal, how he flinched backwards on reflex from the outstretched hand that offered him assistance. Something rang within him, not the peal of a bell but a wrench on a steel pipe. Seeing the boy at his feet stirred ...something in him. He couldn't identify it at the time and the feeling disturbed him.

"Y-yeah, uh, thanks for that." 

He left quickly, shoving his own shaking hands deep in his pockets. Hands that weren't sure what they wanted to do but shook, clenching themselves into tight fists.

Later on in the afternoon, Derek was pleasantly surprised when Stiles promptly returned the coding he had sent, neatly solved with his own helpful additions. The hacker has responded easily- much more easily than he had anticipated. He watched as Isaac plugged in the scripts Stiles had created, the jewelry store security systems shutting themselves down with a quiet but satisfying beep.

"It worked!" Isaac looked up at him with wide eyes.

He snorted. He wasn't going to make the mistake of underestimating Stiles' skills, not anymore despite the boy's obvious anxiousness in everything he did. "Of course it did."

With a nod from Derek, Boyd began setting the explosives. Moments later, as they surveyed the burning building with the rest of the crowd in the streets, Erica radioed in.

"All the panic buttons are down, boys. I'm getting out of there now. Hey, Derek?"

"Yeah."

"It's not too late to snag me a good piece, is it? A nice pair of gold earrings, maybe? For a job well done?"

He wasn't listening to her teasing, a smile on his face at the thick, black smoke billowing into the air. Stealing from Two Moons wasn't the point. He wanted Argent to sweat, to wonder where he was going to strike next, maybe closer and closer to home. Stiles was going to be more useful than he thought. It was an irrelevant fact anyway- he had already decided the hacker was his.

**************************************************

"Hey, we've got company." Boyd spoke up in a grunt, looking to the rear view mirror with concern etching lines into his brow.

Erica followed his gaze with a noise of exasperation. "Now what? Are we being followed?"

"I don't know," the driver shook his head. "Not sure how long they've been there."

Isaac twisted to look out the back window and Stiles stayed perfectly still, no longer interested in anything going on around him. Argent could follow them to the ends of the earth for all he cared.

They were quiet a moment, all three of them watching the dark blue pickup draw a little closer to them with growing apprehension.

"Babe? Go faster." Erica whispered.

**************************************************

The day after they hit the jewelry store, Derek sat in the same diner again while he waited for a reply from Stiles. He drank his coffee, hitting the refresh button over and over again until his fingers started to cramp and even then he repeated the motion despite his body's protests. Finally something appeared in his inbox:

**** FR: st1l1nskinat0r@gmail.com  
 TO: me   
SUBJECT: re: good work

** You're very welcome. Now fuck off, I don't work for free. **

Derek grinned with pleasure at the screen. So Stiles had a bit of a fiery streak in him after all. He typed out his reply, knowing already the ominous ambiguity of it would set the hacker on edge as he wondered what was meant.

As he sent the email, Erica sent him a text- Stiles had left the bank. An excitement sparked within him as an idea blossomed, a strange dark flower. He told Isaac to wait for a message from him and threw down enough money to cover his bill, taking off down the street.

When he saw Stiles emerging from the Starbucks, his pulse quickened and thundered in his ears. He caught up to him easily through the thick crowd of people, walking as close behind him as he dared. Derek mused if the stench of the city wasn't so strong he would've been close enough to catch Stiles' scent. He felt the crotch of his pants tighten a little at the thought. Soon enough he'd breathe deeply in of it and memorize every imagined intricate note.

As they approached the bank, he couldn't help himself. He needed to bridge the unknown gap between them. Before Stiles made it to the front steps of the bank where the crowd was thinner, he reached out and gave the briefest of touches to the back of his arm. He felt Stiles tense under his hand for a split second before he turned abruptly and let the crowd swallow him up in a living camouflage. He could see the hacker look around with the fearful look he was quickly coming to enjoy so much and smiled as he called Isaac. "Make it rain."

He watched outside the building, looking in through the doors as the sprinklers went on. He chuckled under his breath at the screaming people running outside in their wet clothing and ruined hair. Idiots.

"Did it work?" Isaac asked.

"Yes." He replied, watching with a minimal bubble of annoyance as the bank manager tear a strip off the confused hacker. "When Stiles asks about this, it was an accident. Make sure Erica and Boyd know that too."

"Okay ...?" Isaac was waiting for further elaboration but he wouldn't be getting any. He should've been used to Derek's vague requests by now.

"You can back off Stiles for now. I have ...an errand to run. I'll meet you later tonight." He hung up without waiting for a reply. They'd listen to him without question now. After all, he had saved them all from their own shitty lives. As bad as he wanted Stiles, he wouldn't be the exception to the rule that had served him so well.

As nightfall came and Stiles waved goodbye to the girl, his whole body hummed with energy- the thrill of the hunt. They walked block after block, and he knew as soon as Stiles became aware of his presence. He started to synchronize their footsteps just to freak him out, grinning when the hacker sped up his pace. He wouldn't be able to outrun him, Derek was sure of that. He got closer and closer, heart pounding along with Stiles' and hands clenching and unclenching, thinking of all the pale skin hidden underneath black ink.

Just when he was about to close in, one of Beacon City's homeless suddenly accosted the hacker, begging for money.

"Sssspaare sommeee chaaange, missssterr?"

"Sorry, I don't have anything on me."

Derek spun into the shadows, breathing heavily and painfully aroused at hearing Stiles' quiet unsteady speech that quivered ever so slightly with his fear. He crept around the building, eyeing the hacker from the other side. Unknowingly, Derek watched along with him as the bum meandered away drunkenly into the night. He listened to Stiles breath in and out, trying to calm himself down.

Derek pulled on the wolf mask, catching his reflection in a car window nearby and making sure his features were completely obscured. Stiles didn't notice him as he made to walk by- not until Derek reached out and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. For a second he almost forgot what he was doing, luxuriating at the feeling of the tense muscles under his hands.

Stiles was a rag doll, curiously limp as Derek slammed him into the brick wall. As the boy fell to the ground, stunned and struggling to get to his feet, he planted his boot squarely aimed at his ribs. Over and over again the blows came down, though he was carefully controlling how much force he used. If he wanted, he could've snapped Stiles' rib cage like so many twigs. He raised a fist, only able to bear pummelling the hacker's face only once before the boy blacked out moments after.

The hacker was unconscious as Derek straddled him, a small trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. How badly he wanted to release himself from the painful confines of his jeans, strip the boy down and take him in the filth of the alleyway, among the dirt and garbage of the city. He reined himself in, knowing there would be time for that later. For now, he satisfied himself by leaning down and licking away the red trail, revelling in the coppery thinness on his tongue. He groaned at the taste before removing his mask, shoving it in his pocket.

He picked up Stiles and carried him back to his apartment, taking the keys from the boy and letting himself in. As they entered he felt Stiles stir in his arms and a wave of love washed over him at the small noise of pain he was rewarded with. "You're safe now." He wasn't sure if the hacker could hear him but spoke with great tenderness nonetheless. It surprised him how easily it came to him, that it was really only half an act for Stiles' benefit.

He carried him up the stairs and through his unit doors, setting the boy on his couch and removing his phone from his pocket. He cracked it open expertly and placed a small tracking device before replacing the connecting pieces. He set it down on the coffee table along with Stiles' wallet. He draped the boy's jacket over him and turned to leave, almost making it to the door, impressed with his own self-discipline when Stiles spoke in a broken voice.

"Please."

It almost undid him right then. In his mind he could see himself turning with a snarl of lust and want, slamming his body into the battered boy with a ruthlessness he knew was hiding beneath a thin layer of control easily broken. He could see their mouths smashed together, tongues entwined and tasting of blood. Instead he grit his teeth together until it hurt and ignoring his throbbing cock, closing the door behind him with no small measure of regret.

**************************************************

"I can't go any faster, I'm already twenty above the speed limit."

"Oh so now we're concerned with being law-abiding citizens?" Erica snapped, more out of fear than irritation.

"You want to get pulled over by the cops? Now?" Boyd glared at his other half as Isaac groaned.

"Guys, shut up. Maybe we're being paranoid- I mean, yeah I guess that's good all things considering but it could be anyone."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Erica muttered.

"Maybe we should ease up on the gas, see if they pass by." Isaac suggested, looking over to Stiles and trying to get his input on the situation. "Stiles? What do you think?"

"I don't care." The hacker mumbled morosely.

**************************************************

Derek waited three days for Stiles to recover even though he knew it wasn't going to be enough, not completely. He wanted to see what the boy would do if he kept his foot on the pedal. Maybe he could be spurred into action faster that way. Or break completely. Either option excited him in similar ways.

He taped the note to the apartment door and had made it to the elevator when a boy exited as he got on, fiddling with his keys. He watched as the boy went to Stiles' door and took the folded piece of paper off, looking back at Derek curiously.

Derek frowned back at him, unsure of who he was. Was he Stiles' boyfriend? He considered sticking his arm out, getting back off and killing the boy where he stood. It would be easy and he knew he would get away with it. But he stared back as long as he could before the doors closed and cut off his line of vision, ending his debate. No, if he was important to Stiles it wouldn't do to traumatize the boy that quickly. It was too soon. There would always be time for that later.

He went around the side of the building and picked up a brick resting next to the side door. The other night he had observed one of the tenants sticking it in the crack while they were out for a cigarette. He wrote his threat in a thick black marker and waited until he was sure his previous message had been read and considered before lobbing the projectile up easily. He watched it crash through the window, knowing he had chosen the correct one by the familiar cries of fear that echoed out and reached him below. He felt a lightness in his soul at the sound and quickly rounded the corner, out of sight.

Now he would have to wait one more agonizing day and see if the invitation was accepted. It wouldn't really matter. If Stiles didn't come to the ball, he would come to Stiles- and they would do this the hard way. He didn't want it to come to that- not just yet, but the option wasn't completely unpalatable, he had to admit.

**************************************************

As Boyd eased up on the gas pedal, the pickup gained on them rapidly in seconds. He grunted at the painfully tight grip Erica had on his hand, the inside of the car tense as they watched the headlights grow larger and larger.

"Shit, shit, shit ..." Erica whispered.

With a honk of a horn that made them all jump, the vehicle passed by them as it picked up speed. They watched as it went down the highway, taking the next exit and disappearing around the bend in the road.

Isaac laughed nervously. "See? We got spooked for nothing."

**************************************************

He grinned, watching Stiles select his mask. Of course he picked the tragedy, it was sort of fitting. The rest of the team was already in place and waiting. He knew they were already getting curious as to his attentions towards Stiles but couldn't bring himself to care. There were always more like them. If they had to be eventually replaced, so be it.

Stiles' father forced him over to speak to Argent and Derek bit back a growl. It was the first time he himself had seen Argent in almost two years. Still the same smug bastard, pretending to cater to these rich assholes. If only they knew where their cash was going, what a scandal that would be. He forced himself to study Stiles instead, curbing his mounting rage with the interest in the discomfort painted all over the boy's face. Argent would pay for Peter's death eventually. For now, he had to be patient and let things fall into place.

"After the speeches, deliver the note." He radioed to Isaac who was posing as one of the waiters, in disguise courtesy of Erica.

He watched the hacker during the time the city officials spent time droning on. He had to agree perfectly with the bored, unimpressed look on Stiles' face. The boy seemed to already have a festering dislike of authority that Derek would be more than happy to nurse to greater fruition. 

Once the music started, sweeping strings and plucking of a harp, Derek entered the ballroom where Erica had Stiles waltzing clumsily. It was endearing as much as the sight of someone else so close to him set his nerves on edge. He would reprimand Erica for it later.

"I'm here." He spoke into the radio, watching as the girl quickly disentangled herself from Stiles' gangly limbs. Stiles looked around as Erica disappeared, looking lost and ...adorable. 

Derek watched him for a few seconds more, enjoying the moment briefly before putting him out of his misery.

"May I?" He poured sensuality into his voice, the request coming out as a purr of promise as he pulled Stiles close.

"You." Stiles whispered, a delicious tremble in the word.

"Me." He replied, a low mockery he couldn't help. He knew he had been almost immediately recognized as the saviour from the alley and was pleased at the seamless transition.

"Who are you?"

He thought a moment how best to answer. Yours. I'm yours, Stiles. And you're mine. You just don't know it yet. "You know who I am." I'm the one who saved you. Who'll always save you.

"That day at the cafe," he spoke slowly. "And ...in the alley. You saved me, brought me back to my apartment that night, didn't you ...Derek?"

When Stiles said his name for the first time, so shy and hesitant, he had to bite back a moan. He wanted to hear him struggle to pant it out beneath him, wanted to hear it screamed for the world to hear, wanted to hear it pleading in fear, wanted his to be the only name he ever spoke again. Again and again and again. Forever. He simply smiled, a hardly adequate response for his pleasure. "Good, you remember."

As he made his case, omitting some key details and changing others to suit his purposes, he expected some token protest from Stiles. Even playing the 'dead family' card- as casually as he did it, distracted enough by the boy to take a serious hit to his acting abilities, he expected to be called out instantly, to see palpable suspicion.

All he received was Stiles eating up every word that passed his lips, making half-hearted objections that had no real weight behind them. It was easy enough to insert himself as the hero of the narrative and even easier it seemed for the boy to regard him as such.

"Goodnight, Stiles."

Hook, line, and sinker.

**************************************************

"Where are we even going?" The rest of them jumped in surprise at Stiles' tired voice speaking up from the backseat for the first time in a bout of silence.

"As far away from Beacon City as possible, please." Erica sighed back, rubbing her eyes. "You're more than welcome to come with us, Stilinski. We could-"

"No, just drop me off at my apartment." Need to make sure Scott's okay. His guts churned uncomfortably at the thought of his roommate.

Isaac frowned. "I thought we decided it might not be safe?"

Stiles shrugged, not meeting the other boy's questioning gaze. I'm so tired. "Is there anywhere in the city that's safe right now?"

"Then leave with us," Erica persisted. "We can swing by, grab whatever you want, and get the hell ..." She trailed off as a familiar black car pulled up beside them, the headlights glaring to life in the dark. "What-"

**************************************************

As he drove to the docks, Stiles practically vibrating with nervous energy beside him, Derek considered a change of plan. He debated on parking on a darkened side street and just taking the boy right then and there. The image of Stiles chained up in some secret place, all his and no one else's ...it was tempting. But no, the best chains were mental ones- chains that took time to craft but so much more difficult to remove.

The hacker had few, timid questions for him and little comments, tiny apologies and sympathies for a dead family consumed in flames. It was only a half-lie, really. He still remembered the meaty, acrid stench of burning flesh. Peter wasn't his favourite person- even family considered, but they did understand each other and he did value that. After he had been estranged from the Hale Clan, Peter had carved out a place in the criminal underbelly of Beacon City. He had worked for Gerard Argent a year and a half when he secured a job for his 'favourite nephew' as he was fond of saying, the sarcastic bastard.

It was funny how easy it was to lie, to fabricate this other life that was a shadowy mirror of reality. Even as he told Stiles his heavily altered version, the rage he allowed himself to feel was genuine. He had left home and all the pills and doctors they tried to force on him behind, never looking back. In that way, his family might as well have become a pile of blackened cinders. After that, it was part good luck and part sheer perseverance that he even found his Uncle in the first place after he arrived.

Once he did things started to look up- Argent paid well and Derek had no moral issues with the organized crime he found himself involved in. Most of it had to do with the thriving drug trade of Beacon City, mostly cracking skulls and keeping tabs on their key channels. His violent impulses were never looked down on, if anything they were an asset to the job and were encouraged.

Everyone knew that Gerard was retiring soon. Even Derek was surprised the old man was still at the top considering his age- at least until he saw the beatings, the punishments for fucking up. Then he understood perfectly. 

Argent had told Peter, who had become his most trusted advisor in a short time, that he was leaving his empire in his hands when the time came. Apparently he was distrustful of his children's intentions and though he wouldn't live to see it, he was right. Gerard's corpse wasn't yet cold of a rather questionable heart attack when his children- Chris and Kate Argent staged a coup of sorts.

That's how Derek had been forced to watch as Kate doused Peter in gasoline and dropped a lit match, a brilliant smile lighting up her beautiful face as much as the flames at her feet. They had something between them at some point, some fiery bit of chemistry that always seemed on the brink of exploding. For a while he entertained the now laughable thought that she could be the one for him. It almost hurt as she stared into his eyes as his Uncle burned, screaming between them. Almost.

To Stiles, it was presented as a doomed heartbreak of a relationship of course. The sympathy it elicited almost made him laugh as much as it fed the flames still burning within him.

"Uh, Derek? I still ...I can't help you rob a bank, I just can't but ...I'll help as much as I can, okay?"

"I know you will." He grinned suddenly, unable to keep the mirth to himself. Stiles would help him rob the bank and more, he just didn't know it yet. The boy was on the edge of a cliff, a hair away from a precipice of violence hidden behind the pedestal he was already building for Derek. He could see the way Stiles looked at him when he thought he wasn't watching. He wasn't surprised, of course. After all, he was everything Stiles wasn't and wanted to have, wanted to be.

As they got out of the car, Isaac waited for them on the pier and watched as they approached. "Everything went okay?"

He felt a flicker of annoyance at the question. As always he had to remind himself to have patience with the boy, though Stiles' presence made the words grate on his nerves worse than usual. "He's here, isn't he?"

"I'm Isaac. We sort of met-"

"Outside the bank last week, I remember."

His blood began to simmer at the easy conversation Isaac coaxed from Stiles. Why did he only get stammering fear at his attempts to charm him? Didn't he like him? Didn't he know what he was doing for him?

"Isaac," he barked, trying to rein in his temper. "We don't have a lot of time." His sources had confirmed that tomorrow Kate would be at Kleiner Danson for a shareholder's meeting and Derek had shifted their plans into overdrive. He was purposely vague as always despite the others being confused at the sudden importance attached to the job.

As Isaac scurried away, the icy tone more than enough incentive to flee, Derek turned back to Stiles and let his eyes roam freely. He was confident it was dark enough to get away with the hungry gleam he was surely allowing into his gaze. It was a fascinating thing, watching Stiles' demeanor gradually change. Quietly looking out to the ocean, he must have felt the scrutiny behind him, the attention making him breathe harder in stilted rasps.

It was the second time he observed the hacker having a panic attack, noting the trend as something to keep an eye on. With any luck he could play that to his advantage later on.

"Stiles? Breathe." He commanded as he stepped forward, speaking lowly with confidence into the boy's ear. How desperately he wanted to lean in and let his tongue trail along Stiles' ear, feel the soft flesh of the lobe between his teeth, maybe bite down hard enough to draw blood- blood he knew he already had a taste for.

Through the night as Stiles further demonstrated his value, Derek watched, listened, studied carefully. He could already tell the boy had a curious sort of guilt or shame about him. He guessed something had happened to him in the past, something traumatic that guided him even still.

Unfortunately, it seemed his overtures weren't enough to break through it. Stiles was leaving. The thought made his heart ache in his chest, and the feeling in turn made him angry. He wondered what Isaac was telling him, that little fuck. Out of the three of them, Isaac always seemed to quietly doubt him though he always obeyed in the end. Derek knew he had the fear his father had instilled in him to thank for that.

As they drove back to Stiles' apartment, his mind raced wildly. What to do about this? He couldn't lose the boy already, not so soon.

"What's so special about tomorrow?"

Derek slammed on the brakes at the question, coming to stop in the center of the road. He stared out into the rain, his teeth grinding painfully as a sudden rage and longing battled within. Tomorrow she would be dead and Derek could feel a little more alive again with Stiles by his side.

Except he was leaving, going back to his shit stain of a life.

"What do you care?" Stiles didn't care about him- he could see that now.

"Derek, I want to help you more, I do, but-"

He turned on the guilt full force. "But you'd rather let the Argents continue to do what they do."

Stiles looked aghast at the accusation, paling a little beside him. "No! No, of course not-"

Through his stubborn tirade, he watched the boy grow smaller and smaller in the passenger seat, shrinking under the tidal wave of his anger.

"DEREK! PLEASE!" The boy cried out, tears streaming down his face.

It was only then, hearing that sweetly broken note, that delicious tremor that he cooled off and slumped back in his seat. He made himself look crestfallen, a little ashamed at the outburst, all the while settling for coming back for Stiles after the robbery was set in motion. Maybe if the mood struck him he'd simply take his share, take Stiles, give up his plans and disappear. Disappear forever.

**************************************************

A sudden impact sent Stiles jerking back from the window, seatbelt digging painfully into his side. Erica screamed, holding onto the dashboard for dear life as Boyd swore and fought to keep their car on the road. They swerved and slid drunkenly across the road, Stiles' door receiving another blow and starting to bulge inwards. He watched in a dazed terror as small cracks appeared in the glass while Isaac tried to fish out his gun.

Their pursuer rammed into them again, causing the weapon to fall to the floor and slide further under the seat.

"Nnnghh- fuck, I can't get it!" He cried out, reaching for it as best he could.

Erica had retrieved her own pistol from the glove compartment, aiming out her window at the car holding steady with them. She quickly pumped out several rounds aimed at the tires, but her target pulled away suddenly causing a loss of accuracy on her part. Her eyes widened as she took in who was driving the other vehicle.

**************************************************

Derek sat at the console, flicking the safety off and on his gun absently as he watched the dot that was Stiles blink. He watched with interest as it left Stiles' apartment and slowly began to travel down the street. The tracking device was a sound investment, he reflected. Where was he going so early in the day? Again he found himself almost surprised at how much it mattered to him.

What had Stiles done to him? He had corrupted all his goals and ambitions. All he wanted was to bring Argent down, make him pay, and take his rightful place afterwards. It would've been simple. He could've used the hacker for all he was worth and then disposed of him like so many others.

All he could think about was burying himself in that warm, writhing body. How had he existed before Stiles? He was usually better at reining in his impulses and focusing on the task at hand. The ease with which Stiles distracted him pissed him off and endeared the boy to him even more. He didn't know if he could wait until-

A knock at the door had him instantly on his feet, staring at the screen. Stiles was outside, the dot that represented him blinking happily along. He moved quickly upstairs and cracked the door open, peering out with squinted eyes into the morning light. He released the slight pressure on the trigger at the sight before him, tucking the gun into his pants.

"Stiles?"

"He-hey ...still need ...some help?" The boy panted, out of breath. Had he run all the way here? He felt giddy, euphoric at the hacker's presence though he schooled himself into a stoic expression. Stiles had come back to him, of his own free will no less. Stiles came back, a little moth to his flame. It was like Christmas had come early.

After breakfast, they went through their plans and Stiles fit into the empty slot nicely. Everything around him felt more solid, more tangible. Derek had used the particular pistol he held a thousand times, ended more than a few lives with it, but that morning the cool weight of it in his hand felt deliriously good. Even the air tasted lush and sweet, filling his lungs and exiting again only to be replaced endlessly.

He immediately noticed Stiles' hesitance as they armed themselves. He fought back a grin. Oh, the things he would get used to- maybe even develop a taste for one day. Already Stiles was falling into line. One little speech about the Argents of the world and he was again dancing to Derek's tune. It would only become easier with time. Time and correction if necessary.

The plan began without a hitch, all of them moving perfectly like well-oiled gears in a machine. Derek wasn't sure how clearly Stiles would be able to see them over the surveillance systems so he opted to leave the wolf mask behind. They had stolen a few from Argent at his suggestion anyway.

He wasn't surprised when Stiles mentioned the warehouses. He had been there a few times over the course of his career, after all. Whether or not Chris had remodelled after his father had died remained to be seen. They could always get to that later. Maybe by then Stiles would be the one to drop the match and start burning down the empire by his side.

Derek instructed Boyd to wait at the vault while he ran his ... reconnaissance. The people Argent employed as security turned out to be laughable, even Harris. He made short work of them, adrenaline flowing freely as he played his own version of a symphony: the cracking of bone and dull thumps of bodies hitting the floor. They were lucky he was in a hurry. He relieved Harris of his keycard and made his way to the stairs leading to the second floor where he knew she presently charmed and manipulated old men into agreeing with her every whim. Unfortunately for Kate, her scheming days were at an end- an end that he would provide her with enthusiasm. In his ear, Stiles and the others buzzed on back and forth, little disembodied voices in his ear.

"Derek? Are you there? Listen, we've got another problem. There's some sort of meeting going on upstairs and I think they just figured out they're being robbed. They're probably calling the police right now."

Derek grinned at the statement. Let them call the police. It wouldn't stop him now, now that he was this close. Everything was falling into place perfectly, better than he ever could have asked for. He would've said it was a sign from some higher power if he believed in such things.

And there she was: Kate Argent, peeking out of the conference room down the other end of the hallway as the other shareholders ran for their lives at the sounds of echoing gunshots. Not her though, no, she was too sure of herself, too sure of her own destiny. A thrill ran through him as she turned her head, taking him in with widening eyes.

Derek fired a few errant, lazy shots as she ran, enjoying the hunt for what it was. He wanted to squeeze out every drop of fear he could before the light left her eyes. As she reached the other end of the hall, he raised his gun and pulled the trigger while knowing dimly that nothing else would be leaving the chamber. He had another magazine tucked in his pocket but as she locked herself in a room with no escape, he smiled wryly as he considered the situation. No, that would be too quick anyway.

He grabbed the fire ax off the wall after smashing the glass case open with his elbow in a moment of beautifully twisted inspiration. The heavy weight in his hands assured him, pushed him onwards. The stupid bitch thought she had outsmarted him again. He withdrew Harris' keycard and grinned at the closed door, striding forward and slipping it into the reader, looking forward to painting the conference room a new shade of red.

The card didn't work. He swiped it again, his gleefully murderous thoughts coming to a halt. It wasn't possible, Harris had one of the highest clearances- the hacker. Fucking Stiles.  
"Stiles. What the fuck are you doing?"

The boy at once began rambling, adding to his fast-growing rage. "Derek, you can't, you said-"

"Open the door, Stiles." Open the door, open the door, open the door- "OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR."

He heard Stiles whispering in his ear but the words wouldn't come. He slammed the ax into the door a few times, before discarding it in disgust. That fucking hacker had come between him and the kill of a lifetime. He should've seen this coming, seen the unpredictable factor that was Stiles' queasy morality.

The others were leaving, their frantic voices calling to him over the radio. That was fine. He went down the stairs two at a time, dialling on his phone with angrily stabbing fingers as he fumed.

"Nine, one, one- what is your emergency?"

"Yes," he forced out through a thin veneer of calm. Stiles thought he was leaving after the job? Not anymore. Not ever. "There's a robbery happening right now at a bank, Kleiner Danson Trust? I have some information on who's behind it."

After he hung up, he allowed himself a grim smile and let himself out through a back entrance. One more little trip and then he could return. It wouldn't do for Stiles to suspect he had a hand in alerting the authorities to his involvement. Not yet at least. Maybe he would return with a gift of sorts.

Derek shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked through the crowds gathering outside the building, only sparing the bank one last passing glance.

**************************************************

An ache spread through Stiles' arms, roughly jarred from holding on every time the other car smashed into them. He couldn't see into the front seat from the back, but he recognized the car. Didn't it blow up at the harbor ...? He thought, questioning whether that was what he was actually seeing. His brain felt jostled and stupid in his head.

Someone was yelling, he wasn't sure. There was too much noise. The roaring engines, the screech of metal on metal, Erica still firing haphazardly. Isaac was calling his name but he ignored it, trying to lean enough to see who was driving the other car though something heavy and leaden in his chest told him he already knew who it was.

The car slammed in one final time, sending them off the road in a violent spray of dust and dirt. They careened wildly down a small hill and smashed into a tree with a resonant crash that echoed through the night. The interior lights blinked a couple times and flickered off, leaving them in the dark.

Stiles could feel his skull throbbing and touched it tentatively, a lump already forming. Mmm ...fuck. What ...what\- His thoughts were confused, sluggish. Beside him, Isaac breathed heavily but he couldn't see well enough to determine if he was okay. He tried to ask but a confused croak came out of his mouth instead of words.  
In the front seat, Erica was quietly sobbing.

**************************************************

Derek returned to find Stiles outside, sharing another cigarette with Isaac. He was amused at Stiles' terrified expression, thinking he was still furious about Kate. The boy would make it up to him in time, he was sure of that.

As Stiles ran inside to retrieve his things, Derek followed after shooting Isaac a look that needed no explanation- he was staking his territory. He watched as the hacker grabbed his bag, ready to leave immediately, but he couldn't let that happen. Not until the evening news came on. He turned the lock and observed another peculiar reaction he hadn't been expecting: Stiles tensed up at the sound and dropped his bag to the floor, his whole body beginning to quake. At first he summed it up to a healthy fear of being locked in a room with him. He could understand that.

"Don't go, Stiles. Not yet."

There was no indication he had been heard. Derek approached slowly, looking on in wonder as a steady stream of tears erupted from the corner of the hacker's eyes, eyes that weren't seeing Derek or the small kitchen they were in.

"Stiles? Can you hear me?"

The hacker was in the throes of some terrible memory, that much was for certain. Derek closed the distance, gently taking his cheek in one hand and running his thumb over the wet skin. He shuddered at the feeling, unable to resist leaning down and tasting the salt on his lips. When the boy managed to calm down, Derek was pleasantly surprised to find he didn't pull away once back in reality.

"Wha-"

He could've eaten him up right there- red flushed skin, wide eyes looking up at him through wet lashes, mouth half open and begging to be plundered. He imagined that picture looking up at him, kneeling between his legs and he bit back a groan.

"Are you alright now?"

"I'm- I mean- I ..." Stiles babbled, not meeting his eyes. "I need ...a sec to ...recover from- from whatever that was ...that just happened."

It was too easy. Too easy to distract him with the little gift (he doubted Whittemore would ever realize the flash drive was missing- he could always just buy another one with his father's money, after all) and their skin meeting together. Watching his face as the news anchor read his name, that was another sight he filed away to replay again in his head. The progression from confusion to panic as the boy became more and more upset, that was art. It was beautiful. He fed on it, even as he offered what he knew to be a comforting touch. 

Playing both sides of the coin this way was more rewarding than in his wildest dreams. He was eager to explore their developing bond further, to whatever depths he could take it.

**************************************************

"Boyd? Boyd! Wake up! Please wake up!" Erica ...?

Boyd was unresponsive, slumped over the steering wheel. In the light of the full moon, Stiles could see blood dripping down his face, possibly from a broken nose. He felt like he was going to throw up, fighting clumsily to free himself from the seatbelt.

Erica shook Boyd's shoulder, tears smudging her makeup as she looked out the windshield at the figure watching them impassively from the side of the road. "Boyd, baby, please ..."

"Eurhhh-" Isaac groaned, trying to open the door without realizing it was still locked. He seemed relatively unharmed though dazed from the impact.

Stiles blinked slowly, finally wrestling the belt off him as his door was ripped open from the outside. He shrank back into the car but two powerful arms reached in and grabbed his coat, dragging him outside. He whimpered quietly, trying to grab onto anything as an anchor but his limbs were numb and danced with pins and needles as his fingernails dragged over and caught on the seats painfully.

"Stiles."

**************************************************

Sometime after Stiles fell asleep, he found himself tracing patterns across the boy's skin with his fingers. He wasn't tired, not after pretending to be unconscious for hours after the fire he set at the docks. He pushed up Stiles' shirt gently, taking in all the black designs that creeped up his sides. He wondered how much he could get away with.

Shudders of pleasure rolled through him, settling deep in his guts, just from tracing the designs with the tip of his tongue. He huffed out a quiet breath through his nose, trying to have self-restraint in the face of absolute power over the boy. Stiles stretched out in his sleep, bare legs rubbing gently against Derek's and exposing another tantalizing inch of skin as his shirt rode up.

"Mmm ...Derek ...s-stop."

He felt like he was going to come on the spot. The needy, wanton voice that murmured sleepily- it almost undid him, everything he had planned. He couldn't risk freeing himself, could only grit his teeth as he felt his arousal strain against the unforgiving material of his pants. If he turned to his own pleasure he wouldn't be able to stop, and Stiles wouldn't understand what followed.

But that didn't mean he couldn't take some small solace in Stiles' pleasure, even if he wasn't awake for it. He could feed whatever dreamscape the boy was lost in. Lost in with him.

All too soon Isaac was knocking at the door, disturbing them. He wiped the spit and come off his lips and rearranged himself with shaking hands, returning quickly to the boy's side as he felt Stiles stir at the sound. In hindsight, he thought it was probably a good thing the interruption came when it did. Otherwise, he was getting to the point where it became harder and harder to stop. Even wrapping Stiles back up in his arms and feeling the warm, heavenly friction between them made his head spin, his thoughts spiralling into dark fantasies.

Later on, as Stiles slipped into another attack at Derek's behest, he found himself comforting the boy soon after in hushed whispers, dragging his fingers gently through the trails of tears.

"Don't leave me. Please don't leave me."

He smiled into Stiles' hair, drowning himself in the scent he found there. "I won't. I'm not going anywhere." Now that the father was alienated enough, they could make real progress unimpeded by any meddling on part of the Chief. But who was Carson? He'd find out eventually. Anybody who still had such a hold over Stiles needed to die, it was that simple.

**************************************************

The moon was swollen and pale in the sky. It hung over Derek's head, giving his shadowed face a halo of light as he dragged Stiles out of the car, slamming the door closed and pulling him to his feet.

Stiles struggled weakly in the powerful grasp, shaking from both the collision and the revelations threatening to break through the barrier of denial he hadn't finished constructing.

"Derek ...Derek, please, please- no ..." He babbled in a murmur, even as the man leaned in and kissed the side of his cheek tenderly, trapping Stiles between the car and his body.

"Stiles ..." He growled into the hacker's neck, pressing his lips to the exposed skin. "I missed you."

"Get away from him!" Erica's voice trembled as she fought against the passenger door but it seemed to be stuck closed. Beside her, she had pushed Boyd back into his seat where he sat resting upright though unresponsive.

Derek didn't seem to hear her, or if he did he ignored the plea. Stiles tried to breathe, tried to steady himself. What's happening? What's happening?

"D-Derek ...what ..." He heard himself say, the words forced out of his mouth with a tongue that felt like lead. "What are you doing?"

Derek stared at him in the eye, brows furrowed as if in confusion as to why he was being asked the question, like it was obvious. "I'm saving you."

"Saving me?" He closed his eyes, feeling the heat of Derek's body even through the layers of clothing he wore. How is this ...saving anyone? "You ...you just ran us off the road."

Derek gave him a small, patient smile and a sick feeling started to gnaw at his stomach, his hands clammy with sweat. "You can't trust them, Stiles. They're working for Argent."

From inside the car, Erica swore as she smashed at her door in vain. "Like hell we are, you fucking psycho!" He could hear clicking coming from inside the car and knew Erica was trying to fire her now empty gun. With eyes only seeing Stiles, Derek didn't seem terribly concerned.

Stiles breathed out heavily, pains in his chest that made his heart flutter. "No ...no they're not, Derek." He couldn't stop himself from crying, drawing shuddering breaths. He couldn't resist, didn't have the strength to, as Derek embraced him and accepted the accusation without protest.

"Shh ...it's okay. You're okay now. I've got you."

"Why- why are you doing this?" Stiles sobbed as he fisted the familiar leather jacket, wanting to push the man away and surrender to the comforting touch at the same time. He could hear Isaac moving around in the car but he hadn't spoken. Keep breathing, keep breathing ...

"Why am I doing what?"

Stiles swallowed, mouth dry as he considered the past in a sudden clarity. "It was you, wasn't it? All of it- all of it was you. W-why? Why me?"

Derek didn't answer at first, grabbing Stiles and pulling him away from the vehicle as Erica managed to get out on the driver's side, pulling a groggy Boyd along with her. Isaac exited as well, slowly and staring at Derek and Stiles with wary eyes.

The hacker looked down at the ground, at the blades of grass crushed under their feet, anything but at the eyes boring into him. "You were the one working for ...for-"

"Yes." Derek breathed out, keeping an eye on the other three who were standing on the opposite side of the wreck, watching. "I did. But it wasn't all a lie, Stiles."

"Don't listen to him." Boyd muttered, eyes glassy and out of focus, blood already crusting around his nose and mouth.

"My Uncle is dead. He was burned alive by Kate while I watched. That's the truth." Derek continued calmly. "Argent took over his ...business and tried to have me killed as well, but I got away. I spent the last two years looking for people I could trust, to help me bring him down, and I finally found you."

The quiet hum of another car driving towards them began to drone but Derek didn't seem to hear it.

"You were the one I've been looking for. I had to make sure you'd help me, so I took steps. Now it's done. I can go back to where I belong, and you can come with me."

Stiles recoiled from the fingers stroking his cheek, shuddering at the touch and his own mixed emotions that ran thick with disgust. "Those people ...you're a trafficker."

Derek snorted angrily. "That was Argent's idea, not mine or Peter's. We were doing fine before he had to fuck things up. It'll stop as soon I take over, I promise. Human product is too difficult to move around- the payoff isn't worth the trouble and it's a waste of pharmaceuticals." At Stiles' distraught, disbelieving look he let out a heavy sigh of fraying patience. "You thought I was Robin Hood, and my band of merry men would steal from the rich and give to the poor. You thought I was the hero in my story."

Stiles started to cry again, sobbing into the front of Derek's jacket as he spoke in a low voice over the anguished sounds.

"I'm not a hero, Stiles, I'm the villain. Shh ...calm down, it's not a bad thing. All the fairytales your parents read you when you were little, there was always the hero and the villain. The good guys and the bad guys."

Derek shook his head, keeping an eye on the others as he spoke, addressing them as much as Stiles.

"The heroes are never the catalyst for change in the stories or life- the villain is. The hero wants everything to stay the same; the ones in power, the ones who abuse and manipulate, they stay in power. They try to ...label and categorize people like me, and they keep stepping on people like you. The hero doesn't make a difference- the villain has the chance to change things. I might break the rules, but at least I change the world every day. I wasn't lying when I said I fight men like Argent- or ...Carson."

"You're a fucking nut," Erica hissed. "Let him go, Derek, or we'll-"

"You'll what?" Derek asked, his face blank as he studied them coldly. He drew Stiles close to him and raised his gun, aiming it at Erica who defiantly glared back at him as she still shouldered some of Boyd's weight.

Stiles tried to pull away in vain, wiping at his eyes so he could see. "N-no, leave them alone-"

"Let him come with us, Derek. Please," Isaac pleaded in a near whisper. "Please, just stop this now."

Derek wasn't impressed by either approach of persuasion or intimidation. In the distance, small headlights grew larger and larger as another car approached. Everyone tensed up when it became apparent by the paint job that it was a police cruiser, everyone except Stiles who sagged with relief in Derek's arms. The red and blue flashing lights washed over the scene, surreal but welcomed. It's all over now. It'll be done.

As the car pulled to a stop, the officer got out and shone a flashlight over at the car wrapped around the tree. He seemed to be rather young and Stiles would later reflect he probably hadn't been on the force for very long. He took in the five of them, all scratched up and weathered to various degrees but otherwise still standing before he spoke. "You folks alright? I'll radio for an ambulance, just stay put and I'll be right back."

Stiles trembled as before anyone could say a word, the officer turned his back on them to rush back to his car. He didn't see Derek's gun, no, no no no-

A gunshot echoed loudly making the hacker flinch violently as his ears rang. He watched the policeman collapse in the middle of the road, a dark red stain spreading in the center of his back across his uniform. Derek had shot him directly in the spine with no hesitation.

"J-Jesus Christ." Isaac sputtered, eyes widened in shock at the sudden killing.

"Stiles is coming with me." Derek stated, once again training the barrel of his gun on the three before him. He walked backwards towards his car, opening the trunk and gesturing with the weapon. "Isaac, grab the bags out of the trunk."

"Screw you." Isaac muttered, shaking his head.

The gun fired again, Stiles and Erica crying out but the shot had hit the ground directly in front of Isaac's feet.

"I won't ask again. You know I won't."

Isaac seemed shaken but reluctantly complied seconds later, coming forward and withdrawing a few heavy canvas bags that seemed familiar.

"What the hell is this?" Erica demanded.

Derek gave her a chilly look. "Your cut."

"The money from the bank?" Isaac blinked as the weight made sense. "Are you serious?"

"It all burned." Boyd mumbled, barely coherent.

"Not all of it." Derek pointed at the police cruiser nonchalantly. "Now, you're going to get in and drive away." No ...wait ...don't leave me here.

Erica let out a bitter incarnation of her trademark laugh though she eyed Stiles with a sort of pain in her expression. "We're not leaving Stiles with you." Don't leave me, please don't leave me ...

"There's almost a hundred grand there, more than enough to get you far away from here and start a new life." Derek's voice dropped to an icy growl. "If you ever come back to Beacon City, I'll kill you myself. No matter what Stiles wants."

"No, please don't leave ..." Stiles whispered in a rasp, the bicep around him like a steel vice. Derek was squeezing him tight enough that he had to concentrate on drawing what breath he could get.

Isaac and Erica looked at each other for a moment before an unsaid agreement passed between them. They both looked at Stiles sadly for a beat before Isaac shouldered the bags and stared to walk towards the police car with Erica and Boyd following.

"N-no, no ..." Stiles' voice shook as they turned their backs on him and the man holding him tightly. Some black feeling swept over his heart, turning his blood to muddy oil and his thoughts to a dull obsidian.

"See? They're leaving you," Derek whispered in his ear. "They didn't even try to fight for you, Stiles. They just gave up. Look at how I've fought for you, how I drew blood for you."

With Isaac's help, they managed to get Boyd in the backseat. Erica stood up and regarded Stiles one last time, a wretched misery in her expression. "I'm so sorry, Stilinski. I'm so sorry."

Derek made him watch as they drove away, kissing the side of his face and tasting the wet saltiness of his skin. "It's better this way. You'll see. They didn't really care about you, not like I do. I'll take care of you now. You don't ever have to be afraid, ever again. No one can hurt you anymore." Beside them, a tiny river of blood branched off the puddle forming around the slain officer's body, running steadily towards them over the pavement. Stiles watched dully as it hit the edge of his sneaker and ran along the side in a glistening stream.

As Derek's words sunk in, Stiles let himself be led around the side of the car and be gently helped inside, Derek even buckling his seatbelt for him. The door slammed shut and as Derek walked around the side towards the driver's seat, Stiles considered his words through the haze he was experiencing. He's right, I don't have anyone else now. Dad and everyone else I know think I'm a criminal ...and I guess they're right. How can I trust anyone ...ever again?

**************************************************

They drove for an hour in complete silence, Derek with one hand on the steering wheel and the other perched on Stiles' thigh. They were still some distance outside of the city, so there was little scenery to distract Stiles from his own thoughts, only stretches of thickly wooded areas that flanked each side of the road.

"I called your parents." Stiles muttered, his arms crossed in a defensive posture, unsure of what reaction he would get and also if he even cared.

Derek nodded as his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead for once, unsurprised at the statement. "How did you find them?"

Stiles sighed. "Argent keeps personnel files with contact information in them."

"Kept."

"What?"

"Past tense. He won't be keeping any files on his staff anymore." Derek gave a morbid smirk that Stiles chose to look away from, the sight bringing on a faint nausea. "Did you talk to them?"

The man actually sounded genuinely interested and for a moment the hacker considered lying but remembered one of their first conversations, deciding it was pointless anyway. "No, Laura answered."

Derek said nothing so Stiles cautiously contributed further after he was sure nothing was coming.

"She said ...uh, she mentioned you ...that you were sick." He winced as he concluded, now positive a backlash was on its way.

To his surprise, Derek laughed.

"What?" He gaped, uncomfortable with the mercurial conversation so far and regretting he even said anything.

"Of course she did," his laughter simmered down to a low chuckle. "She likes to think she's perfect- they all do." He shot Stiles a sly look. "They think I'm crazy. Do you think I'm crazy?"

Stiles wasn't sure what to say to that so he settled for shaking his head noncommittally.

"They made me go see shrinks, and take fucking cocktails of medication. They wanted to turn me into a zombie, Stiles. So I left. I left and found Peter and never looked back."

"Mmhmm," Stiles mumbled, looking out the window when the car gave a little beep that Derek cursed at. "What?"

The man eyed a lighted building, the only one for miles that they were rapidly approaching. "We need to stop and refuel."

Stiles' heart gave a sick flutter at the thought of stopping and seeing another person besides Derek. "Do you ...do you think I could use the bathroom?" Maybe I can borrow a pen from the cashier, write a message in the bathroom or something like in the movies. As if reading his mind, the man glowered and stuck a finger in his face threateningly.

"Don't get any ideas."

"I won't, Derek. I promise." Stiles lied, his stomach already in knots at the thought that he might fail in pulling his idea off. He hesitated a moment before making the gamble, hoping Derek wouldn't actually take him up on the idea. "You- you can even come in with me if you want." They pulled in smoothly next to the pumps and Derek parked, turning the keys and pocketing them with a smirk.

"Maybe next time. Go ahead, I'll meet you inside when I pay for the gas. If you're hungry you can grab anything you want."

Stiles nodded silently, almost tripping over himself getting out of the car and walking towards the doors of the gas station on unsteady legs, trying not to go suspiciously fast. As he entered, a little bell rang and alerted the night cashier to his presence.

A gangly young man sat behind the counter, watching a television in the corner. He nodded at Stiles as the hacker approached, nervously glancing over his shoulder. Luckily Derek couldn't see inside from the pump they were at. He stopped dead when he saw a sign on the bathroom that proclaimed it out of order.

The cashier shrugged at Stiles' obvious distress. "Sorry, man. They're doin' some construction in the bathrooms."

Stiles' nerves felt like they were hooked up to an electric current as he checked on Derek once more, the man watching the meter and not looking his way. Do it now, do it now before he sees\- "It's- it's fine, look, I need you to call the police. Please."

The man blinked, confused and Stiles noticed his eyes were reddened and glazed over. "Huh?"

"Goddamn it," Stiles groaned. Of course my one hope is a fucking burnout. "This is an emergency, okay? I need you to call the police! Now! I've been- I'm being kidnapped!" He leaned across the counter and hissed the words, hoping for some shock into action.

"Hey man, you're making a mess on my floor- I just cleaned that." The cashier gestured behind where Stiles had left reddened footsteps across the tiles, though he didn't seem upset about it in the slightest. I doubt you cleaned anything in the last twenty-four hours besides your fucking pipe you-

"The guy I'm with just killed a police officer, he shot him and that's his blood and I'm sorry if I got your floor dirty with it but I'm being kidnapped by a psychopath so can you please call the fucking police for the love of GOD?" He looked over his shoulder and his heart nearly stopped at seeing Derek heading towards the doors. "Fuck, fuck, okay, just play it cool okay? Wait til we're gone, it'll take like five seconds. I'm Chief Stilinski's son, okay? Can you remember that? Do you understand me at all?"

The cashier blinked again and nodded slowly, though Stiles was pleased to see the stoner look at least a little disturbed. Fuck, maybe this is going to work after all. When Derek came inside, the bell jingled again and the cashier glanced up at him nervously, nodding emphatically. "H-hey, man."

Stiles mentally kicked himself. Maybe not.

Derek grimaced as he approached the counter, eyes searching out Stiles' like a beacon. "I'm at pump number three." As he waited for the man to enter in his gas purchase, he studied Stiles as the hacker looked vacantly over the shelves, praying to the universe for a break. "You don't want anything?"

Stiles shook his head, forcing himself to meet the eyes that seemed like they could search out the tiniest flaw in his poor facade of calm. "Not hungry."

"Here's your uh- your change, man." The cashier held out a bill and a few coins in a shaking hand towards Derek who pocketed the money without a word. Yes, almost made it, just gotta walk out the front door and then I'm home free. They'll find me, it'll just be a matter of time and oh no, fuck, what are you doing, you moron-

It was at that moment the stoner made the mistake of glancing at Stiles. Derek noticed the look and narrowed his eyes, perhaps about to utter a growl of a threat when he also saw the bloody footprints near the door. He looked back to the cashier and Stiles knew that when he looked into those glassy red eyes, he knew the man behind the counter had seen them too. The worried glance he shot at Stiles seconds later sealed both their fates.

"Derek-"

In one swift motion Derek withdrew his gun, the cashier having a split second to start to raise his hands up uselessly when Derek shot him in the face. Stiles backed up several steps in horror, collapsing against a shelf and knocking several boxes of product to the floor. Blood had sprayed in a shower all over the counter and the cigarette packages displayed behind. Someone was moaning and he assumed it was the dying cashier before Derek angrily forced him to stand and told him to shut up. Only then did he realize the sound was coming from his own mouth.

"Look at him." Derek slammed him down on the counter, the red droplets smearing above the lottery tickets encased in the plastic tray and onto his jacket.

"No, no, please-"

"LOOK AT HIM." The man roared, twisting Stiles' head viciously so he was forced to look at the corpse still bleeding through a ruined eye socket.

He wanted to throw up, seeing the grisly remains of the man he had enlisted for help only minutes ago. When Derek leaned down to speak next to his ear, he whimpered, tears springing from the corners of his eyes.

"He didn't have to die, Stiles. We could've went on our way and he would've lived to smoke another joint."

"Derek," Stiles cried. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Derek shook his head grimly. "It's too late for that now. You made me kill him, you realize that? You made me kill someone who didn't deserve it. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

On some level he wanted to argue that rationale but a small voice inside him questioned that urge. If you kept your big mouth shut he'd still be alive, wouldn't he?

"So you look at him, Stiles. You look at him and feel the same guilt you make me feel, because you're the one who got him killed, not me." Derek allowed the hacker to rise and stalked towards the doors, not waiting for him to follow. "Come on," he growled over his shoulder and Stiles hastily obeyed, bottom lip trembling and wondering when he'd finally run out of tears to cry.

The bell jingled once more as they departed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh finally! Had some major issues with this chapter, but I finally finished! This is the longest chapter of the story, so I'm sorry if it's too much at once. I was debating on splitting it into a two-parter but the jumping back and forth was too frequent to make a nice clean break.
> 
> Anywho, it's not over yet! One more chapter and then a nice probably equally monstrously long epilogue! :)
> 
> [Derek's "villain speech" is inspired/appropriated from an interview with Mr. Manson talking about the meaning of the album title]


	13. Breaking The Same Old Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...  
> ...  
> ...
> 
> (i am owned by death and i'm in love with oblivion)

It's been a week. The thought came to him through the fog of his mind, a dull and unbidden clarity. He shifted, wincing as the handcuffs rubbed against skin starting to get raw around his wrists. In the small window next to him, he could see a shadow of his own reflection and grimaced at himself. Dark circles ringed his watery eyes like kohl and even in the glass he could see a tired fear in danger of being permanently etched into his face.

As exhausted as he was, Stiles couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw a myriad of images appearing in the dark like ghosts: Scott's bruised face full of hate as he and Derek had returned to the apartment that night, Carson's phantom grin leering above him, the quiet hopes and despairs of Doctor Wells, his father looking at him with clear disappointment, a blurry memory of his mother singing him to sleep, Isaac and the others driving away into the night.

He couldn't be sure if sleep came to him in fleeting moments, enough to give him flashes of nightmares, or if his own conscience and tired senses were simply rebelling against him. Images of blood soaked bodies peppered with bullet holes appeared at the foot of the dirty mattress where he attempted to sleep. They looked up at him with glassy, dead eyes until he screamed enough to wake- trembling and hating himself for somehow wanting the presence of the man responsible.

In the corner, the voices coming from the television babbled away in delirium, a chorus of hysterics in the form of newscasters with perfect teeth. The whole city was in an absolute uproar. Stiles watched footage of Chris Argent being led from his palace of a home, cuffed and snapping angrily at members of the press who shouted their questions in his face. The police officers stared straight ahead, faces grim as they stowed the Mayor in the backseat of the cruiser, red and blue lights flashing.

Every major news station in North America seemed to be covering the story. "...Of Beacon City was arrested today facing bombshell allegations. Overwhelming evidence has come forth that Mayor Argent had a hand in possibly the largest human trafficking ring this side of the globe. A warning to our viewers, the footage we're about to show you is of a disturbing nature ..." His heart gave a tiny pang at the video of people being led out of the crates by paramedics, blinking and confused at the proceedings. You fucking bastard, I hope Derek didn't make it too fast for you. Stiles was suddenly very still, very aware of how quickly his thoughts had yet again turned to the man.

Derek had left earlier, speaking above Stiles' panicked whimpers as his hands and feet were handcuffed together. He explained slowly, patiently that he had to meet with a few trustworthy contacts and after that he would be gone a few hours. Stiles had nodded mechanically, given up on speaking unless it was demanded. Usually it was, but Derek let it slide at the time. The man had smiled that brilliant smile, lighting up his handsome face.

'I'm planning a surprise for you.' he had added. When Stiles exhibited no curiosity as to what it could be, he took the boy's chin in his hand gently and stared him in the eye. 'Don't you want to know what it is?'

'Yes.' The boy had recited listlessly.

'It's part of your birthday present, Stiles.'

Stiles had blinked at that, frowned as he tried to place the time of the year. He had forgotten his birthday was around the corner- it was today if his count was correct, but it didn't surprise him much that Derek should be aware of that.

For the past few days they had been living in the seediest motel Stiles could have possibly imagined. The owner was a greasy man with thinning hair and a swollen beer belly barely contained in stained and stretching shirt. He had leered at Stiles unpleasantly as Derek shoved a wad of bills into his hand, telling him there was more cash to be had if they were left undisturbed. The owner agreed readily but Stiles kept a watchful eye on the door and the curtains drawn anyway. Better the devil you know, isn't that what they say?

As soon as the door closed behind Derek, Stiles started to entertain thoughts of escape. He had no real plan besides finding another guest in the motel and begging them to drive him to the police station. Again and again he rose from the bed, crawled over to the door, and stared at the knob before letting out a keen of frustration. He couldn't be sure when Derek would come back and couldn't ask a stranger for help while knowing it might get them killed. He wouldn't be able to live with any more lives on his conscience.

And you don't really want to leave. An ugly thought that had been steadily twisting itself around his brain made itself known, the idea reducing him to curling up on the floor beside the bed and letting the tears flow freely. You watched him kill people- execute people that didn't do anything to him. Doesn't stop you from wanting him though, does it? Nausea brought on by guilt rolled over his stomach as he processed the feeling, sickened with himself and his own weakness.

I've got to get out of here ...but where do I go? He shook at the thought that Derek might be the most predictable, safe option in his life in that moment.

The hours passed slowly but true to his word, Derek returned late in the evening to find Stiles only slightly worse for the wear than when he left him. After all, the boy had been wearing the same clothes for a week, smelling now of stale perspiration. His stomach gave a flip as Derek entered, the man raising an eyebrow at his unusual position as he set a few bags down on the floor.

"I missed you." Derek paused, jaw tightening a moment when he received no answer. Stiles usually didn't reply unless it was a direct question but he wasn't expecting a lack of anger towards his slight. "You don't like it here." He stated softly, locking the door behind him.

Stiles looked resolutely at the worn carpeted floor, ignoring how his heart had begun to beat a little faster. "Was it obvious?"

Derek nodded, moving to the bed and giving Stiles' a kiss on the crown of his head. "We're going out tonight."

The hacker looked up at that, reluctantly interested as Derek produced a small key and began to unlock the cuffs around him. He hadn't left the motel room for seven days and was suffering serious cabin fever. "Where?"

"It's part of your surprise. You'll see." Derek smiled slyly, glancing at the bags by the door. "Those are for you." With one last graze of lips on the skin of his neck, Derek withdrew to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Stiles sat there a moment, listening to the water running beyond in the other room and eyeing the shopping bags with trepidation. He sighed and hobbled over to them with stiff legs, knowing he had little choice in the matter.

Spreading out the contents over the bed, Stiles gawked at all the clothing Derek had brought back with him. Most of it was admittedly in the same vein of his usual style but Derek had left the price tags on each article and the money that had been spent on him was making him a bit uneasy. It all came from stores he had never been able to even dream of affording in the past- It'll be nice to change into clean clothes though- why the hell am I worrying what that psycho spent on me?

He ran his hands over the fabrics, brushing collars and seams with trembling fingers and questioning his own thoughts. As he stared down at the plethora of clothing, numb and unsure, he listened to the sound of the shower until it stopped. He stood there, waiting.

"What do you think?" Derek's voice was in his ear, the faint though familiar musk of his cologne in the air. He pressed his lips tenderly to Stiles' cheek as he awaited an answer, a low hum in his throat.

Stiles didn't know what to think. He couldn't form coherent thoughts when Derek was so close to him and barely covered to boot. It was hard to say what emotions came with the shudders that ran down the back of his neck. "Where- why-"

"You don't like them." Derek seemed to quickly withdraw into himself, his brows knitting together and voice losing the glint of mischief that seemed to happen so rarely.

Shit, shit, keep him calm. "No! N-no, I do." Stiles protested hastily, his voice cracking slightly. "It's ...overwhelming. It's ...it's a lot at once."

Derek gave a small smile. "I understand. Go get yourself cleaned up, I'll pick something out for you."

The hacker withdrew to the bathroom slowly, careful not to walk too fast. He watched his feet move across the carpet, slightly sinking into it with each step. When he stepped across the threshold and turned, he could see Derek's naked back as he dried his hair and stared a black symbol tattooed there between his shoulder blades. Three spirals branching off from the same source- his mind distantly found the correct terminology for such a symbol. Triskelion.

After he had closed the door behind him, it was like someone had cut the invisible ropes that held him up and he slumped to the floor. He rubbed at his face with his hands, a split second hope forming that it was all a dream, that he would wake up in his own bed, that Derek would be beside him- no, no, no, that's not what you want, that's not what you want ...

As Stiles scrubbed every inch with the small chunk of soap left, he cursed the plumbing of the motel. He had cranked the water to the hottest setting but it remained an unsatisfying lukewarm temperature. He rested his head against the wet tiles and prayed for the strength to face whatever Derek had in store for him.

**************************************************

Derek had treated them both to curly fries and hamburgers- Stiles' childhood favorite. As they ate in a dark parking lot, distant memories of eating lunch with his father in the police cruiser fluttered by and disappeared. It was the only time he could remember having any peace with his Dad, any light-hearted conversation. At least before ...everything that happened at Elmond House. He wondered if it was simply coincidence or if Derek somehow knew the significance. He wouldn't be surprised if were the latter.

"Ready for your surprise?" Derek's eyes glittered in the streetlight, a sickly yellow glow that spilled into the car.

The fresh air and the strange air of familiarity of their meal had brought Stiles back to more than a shadow of his usual self. He had to admit he was somewhat curious, having decided days ago that Derek wasn't going to hurt him- at least not seriously, without reason. There was at the very least some predictability in the key things he was already learning to be careful of. He nodded and joined Derek as they exited the vehicle.

"It's just a short walk from here."

Stiles walked next to Derek, starting to shiver. The autumn seemed like it was on the verge of turning into an early winter soon with the way the chill carried through the slightest breeze. He could feel the goosebumps rising on his airs even through the thick sweater Derek had got him.

The man must have noticed, pulling him close and wrapping an arm around him. "Cold?"

"Yeah." He muttered, otherwise silently, somewhat reluctantly enjoying what little body heat he could feel from the hand around his shoulder. Derek ran pretty hot all the time for some reason and he was grateful- He's a murderer, he's killed people RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.

Ahead of them, a large neon sign glowed in the darkened street: **CHRYSALLIS INK**. Surprise silenced his self-berating thoughts for the moment.  We're going to a tattoo parlor?

"This will only be my second," Derek intoned with a quiet excitement about him. "But it'll be as much yours as mine. I hope you like them." Them? Plural?

Derek opened the front door and held it, letting Stiles walk through before him. A little bell jingled and the sound reminded him uncomfortably of the night in the gas station. As they entered, a young-looking girl with bright pink hair smiled from behind a front desk, a giant sketchpad open in front of her. The walls behind her were covered in examples of tattoos, a large variety of styles and subject matter.

"Hey there, you must be my eight o'clock- Derek and ...Stiles?" She sat down her pencil and looked them over, appraising what she could see of Stiles' ink through thick rimmed glasses.

"That's us." Derek grinned, casually resting his arm around Stiles' shoulders, the charm coming off him was almost blinding. He gave what the hacker supposed was a reassuring squeeze. In another life I would've loved seeing you like this, so excited, so happy ...I would've been happy too.

The girl offered her hand and Derek shook it with confidence. "I'm Crystal," she introduced herself, smiling at Stiles in greeting before addressing Derek further. "So, you described what you guys wanted over the phone but would you mind running through it one more time? I'll sketch something out while you talk and we can go over it together."

"Sounds good," Derek murmured, following Crystal closer to her work space.

Stiles held his breath, only catching bits and pieces of Derek's low voice as he spoke to the artist. He watched as Crystal drew an ' **S** ', beautifully intricate with woven lines of filigree. Next to it she added a ' **D** ' in the same style, nodding along at Derek's description.

"There, what do you guys think?"

Derek looked them over carefully with a shiny gleam in his eyes. "They're beautiful."

Stiles blinked after a moment, realizing they were both looking at him and waiting for his opinion. Oh ...one of them is for me. He nodded with slow awkward jerks of his head, feeling as though he were in someone else's dream watching himself.

"Great!" Crystal eyed Stiles for a moment before smiling, puzzled at the somber boy but dismissing it as Derek suddenly deposited a large wad of bills on her counter. "Uh ...wow, I-"

"They have to be perfect," Derek stared Stiles in the eye as he spoke. "Every detail has to be perfect. That will cover both, won't it?"

Crystal swallowed, eyes wide at the amount of money. "Uh, yeah! More than cover, I mean, I'm not complaining but ...are you sure? That's ...a lot steeper than my normal rate." She laughed uncomfortably for a moment, the look on Derek's face sending a shiver down Stiles' spine. "...Alright then, I'll just grab some paperwork for you both to sign and then we can start. Who's going first?"

"I will." Derek spoke quietly, taking Stiles' hand and rubbing the boy's knuckles with his thumb. He let go when Crystal returned, filling out the forms quickly and sitting down in the chair she motioned towards. Stiles took a seat next to them against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest as he looked on. He watched the artist prepare her equipment, the procedures well known to him. I remember the first one I got ...I was so scared of needles.

Crystal chattered incessantly as she got her gun and ink ready. "So what's the special occasion?" She asked, rubbing Derek's wrist clean with a cotton pad.

"Anniversary." Derek grinned, winking at Stiles who smiled weakly back when Crystal whirled around to beam at him.

"That's adorable!" She cooed, priming the gun with a few short buzzes. "How long has it been?"

"Feels like forever," Derek murmured as he looked Stiles in the eye, the familiar intensity of his gaze tempered with something warmer the hacker still wasn't used to seeing yet.

Crystal made a noise of agreement in her throat, shaking her head. "Oh I know all about it, believe me. I've been with my boyfriend six years now and still no ring, can you believe that? Okay, ready? Here we go!"

Stiles felt as though he were turning to stone as he listened to the two of them talk easily, a facade of a normal conversation. It felt like he was powerless, only able to look on and unable to release the conflicted emotions he was feeling.

Maybe she'll figure out something's wrong and call the police. He'll kill her, just like the boy at the gas station. The cop. Argent. How many lives is your own freedom worth? Maybe he'll mess up, eventually he'll have to mess up somewhere ...and I can go home- home? Home to what? You have nowhere else to go, he made sure of that for you. Scott hates you. Your Dad will never trust you again. You'll have to move back in with him, he'll never let you leave the house. You'll be a prisoner, working a job you despise ...and I'll be alone. I'll be alone until the day I die.

"Okay! All done!"

Stiles looked up, unaware of how much time had passed while Derek had been worked on. On Derek's wrist was an exact replica of the freehand initial Crystal had sketched earlier. He had to reluctantly admit that the work Crystal had done was beautiful- it was a great piece. After this, we'll always be a part of each other.

"It's your turn." Derek smiled as he got up out of the chair.

Stiles stood but stared at the empty chair, knowing this was something he would never be able to take back. A hole he wouldn't be able to fill back in afterwards.

"You okay?" Crystal smiled at him, the look of confusion back in her face though he was guessing she was attempting to hide it. "No way you're getting cold feet with all that work done," she teased, patting the empty chair.

"Stiles?" Derek raised a brow, concern etched onto his features.

He shook his head, lifted his feet though they felt weighted and heavy, and sat down in the chair. "I'm ...fine."

"Alrighty, we never discussed where this one's going." Crystal laughed softly. "You're running out of room at this point so you'll have to be a little choosy."

Stiles just looked at the floor, numb and warring in his own mind. Just get it over with.

"There's a perfect spot right below his heart," Derek suggested with a dangerously sensuous voice.

The hacker drew in a sharp breath. Of course he would know that, why am I surprised? He bit his lip for a second, worrying the flesh between his teeth before pulling his sweater and shirt over his head. Fuck it, just ...fuck it.

Crystal nodded slowly. "How romantic! Yeah, I see it. Right here?" Her fingers were like feathers on his skin, touching his chest lightly. "Look good to you, Stiles?"

He hesitated a moment before raising his eyes to Derek, hoping the man could see what he was going through. "Yeah." The word came out sharper than he meant and he winced at the artist's blink.

"Derek, you want to hold his hand? This is going to be a painful one."

"Of course." Derek murmured, taking Stiles' sweaty hand in his own.

"Okay, let's lay you down here ..." Crystal stopped suddenly, narrowing her eyes in Stiles' direction. "You know ...you seem sort of familiar. I haven't done any work on you before, have I?"

Over her head, he could see Derek's expression darken into a thundercloud. Fuck, fuck, fuck- "N-no, we've never met. Must be someone else."

The artist shrugged as Derek visibly relaxed in the background. "I guess so. It's hard to tell- so many people come through in a day. Alrighty, let's do it. Ready?"

Once the buzz of the gun filled the room and the needles began to puncture his skin, he closed his eyes and lost himself in the sound. Bzzzzzzt ... bzzzzzzzzzzzzt. The thoughts of the last couple weeks of his life left his head completely, the sensations overriding everything else. Everything else but Derek. Just like he wanted. With that bitter thought, he eagerly lost himself in the pain. Pain that resonated over his skin, in his heart, and deep inside the cracks of his soul.

**************************************************

"Where are we going now?" Stiles yawned little over an hour later. The bandage on his chest kept rubbing against the fabric of his shirt and the friction was beginning to annoy him, but he was starting to get more and more preoccupied with where they were going.

Derek patted his leg. "One more surprise."

The hacker sighed, looking out the window and trying to determine which direction they were headed through the city. None of the areas they passed looked familiar to him, but he was tired and on edge while he didn't know the destination.

"Stiles?"

Don't look at him, don't look at him, don't-

"Look at me."

He could have wept, taking in the naked, twisted adoration that was directed at him. Derek clasped his hand tightly and brought it to his lips for a kiss. Their eyes locked together, Derek's brows knitted together as if he were searching for something.

"You hate me, don't you?"

Stiles felt tears prickle at the edges of his vision, gritting his teeth at the feeling that indeed produced a sharpened hatred for the man that spoke to him now. He bit his lip until he could taste blood, looking out the window without replying.

"You think I'm a monster."

"YES!" Stiles yelled suddenly, the shell that had encased him shattering violently in a flood of all that he had tried to keep down inside. "BECAUSE YOU ARE A MONSTER! YOU ...YOU HURT ME, YOU HURT MY ONLY FRIENDS, YOU TURNED MY DAD AGAINST ME! YOU'RE A MURDERER."

Derek looked on, impassive and patient as Stiles continued his tirade, twisting around in his seat so he could yell at Derek's face.

"You made me think you LIKED ME! You USED me! OF COURSE I HATE YOU."

"I never lied about what I feel for you." The man spoke quietly, almost a whisper that Stiles had to take a second to process what he actually heard, the rage in him cresting in disbelief, white hot and bubbling inside him.

"FUCK you, you're lying RIGHT NOW! YOU'RE RIGHT, I DO HATE YOU! I HATE YOU SO FUCKING M-MUCH!" His anger broke and he began to weep into his hands, shoulders shuddering with sobs. "Just k-kill me. Just get it- get it over with."

Derek looked miserable at the sentiment and sighed heavily into the car above Stiles' continued crying. "You're wrong, Stiles. You'll see."

"Where the fuck are you taking me?" Stiles spit, trying to wipe the moisture from his eyes so he could see clearly. The car rolled to a stop in front of Grove Street Cemetery, the largest one of its kind in Beacon City. "Why are we here?"

Derek just shook his head, putting the vehicle in park. "Trust me."

Stiles slapped the dashboard angrily. "No! Fuck that! What are-" Derek had come around to his side of the car and opened the door, grabbing him and beginning to pull him out. "Let me go, Derek! Derek!"

Through the wrought iron gates that brought a flicker of memory back to him, they entered the cemetery bathed in pale moonlight. The hacker struggled against Derek's grasp but quickly found how useless it was for him to fight the man's superior strength. He went limp instead, resolving to at least make it as difficult as possible.

Derek didn't seem to care, easily taking on the weight as he silently took twists and turns deeper in towards the older plots. He seemed to know where he was going, leading them down rows of large grey tombs- mausoleums with carved figures that seemed to watch them pass with cold, empty eyes.

"Why are we-"

"Stiles!" Derek barked. "Enough."

The hacker glared at him but it went unheeded. He thought about grabbing Derek's freshly tattooed wrist as hard as he could, the desire to hurt and cause pain sudden and vicious. Gotta calm down ...that probably wouldn't end well.

Derek suddenly stopped in his tracks, Stiles almost bumping into him. They stood before a large hole that looked to be freshly dug, the smell of damp earth invaded their nostrils. A shovel was stuck in the ground next to it, and the grey walls of the mausoleums surrounded it on all sides. Curiously, a pair of wooden chairs were set there. Their backs faced the hole that seemed to go fairly deep into the earth. Are the chairs for us?

Looking at the wide, vaguely rectangular hole, a chill entered Stiles' bones as he realized he was looking at some sort of grave, one that had been dug recently.

"Stiles."

He looked at Derek with wide eyes and the fear present there softened the man's grim expression somewhat.

Derek gave him a small smile and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I need you to wait here for a moment."

"Okay." Stiles looked away, nervously eyeing the grave and the path they had taken.

"I'm serious. No running. Can I trust you?"

Stiles shook as he nodded, knowing in his heart but not being able to put into words that there was no chance of him leaving now. Not this deeply entrenched in whatever world Derek saw for the both of them. This is it, this is your chance, what are you doing? You can make it back to the streets while he's gone, get a head start, or ...

As Derek disappeared a row over, the sounds of shifting stone reached his ears.

Or you can grab that shovel. One good hit would bring him down long enough to get away.

Strange, muffled sounds started to mingle with Derek's grunts. It sounded like he was moving something heavy.

Go- go now! What the fuck am I waiting for?

Even as thoughts of escape ran through his head, Stiles' feet never moved. He stood there and waited, his mouth open and trembling in anticipation. He couldn't leave- because Derek had asked him, trusted him to stay there.

Derek's a liar, he's a psychopath-

Derek is all I have, he's-

He's fucking crazy and he'll kill you eventually, you know-

No, he wouldn't. He would never lie to me, not now after-

You're naive, you're so, so stupid-

I don't want to be alone

I don't want to be alone and he's all I have left-

Stiles watched, a tear traveling down the side of his face as Derek reappeared, the man's face reddened with exertion and a kicking body swung over his shoulder. Is that ...?

Clad in a black cocktail dress and matching stilettos, Kate Argent looked as though she had just came from one of her brother's fancy parties. Probably not too far from the truth. Her hands and feet were bound with heavy rope, her mouth taped shut. Derek set her down carefully in one of the chairs and stood back, gauging Stiles' reaction.

Kate glared at the two of them, her eyes flickering back and forth between them. Stiles noticed a thin smattering of dust covered her hair and clothes, the image giving him a disturbing thought. Derek was keeping her in a tomb ...since this morning at least.

"What- what's she doing here?" He asked, dreading the answer he already knew. "I don't understand."

Derek smiled and shrugged. "It didn't take me as long as I thought to find your birthday present so I added something for me too. I know that's selfish but ..." He reached out and rubbed away the errant tear. "This is something we have to do together."

"Derek," Stiles shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Just wait one more minute, I'll be back." He disappeared again back the way he came, leaving Stiles alone with Kate who was staring daggers at him.

He swallowed uncomfortably, finding it difficult to ignore the hateful glare of the woman who would happily end his life several times over, he was sure. He looked at the empty chair instead, shivering as he imagined possible occupants. What the hell is Derek doing now?

The grunts and vague sounds of struggle came from beyond the tombs again, getting louder as Derek rounded the corner with another ...person. His burden was similar bound though this time he was dragging the- man, Stiles guessed, moments later shoving him down into the other chair roughly. A black garbage bag was over the man's head and obscured him all the way down to his torso, but his legs and feet were uncovered and revealed dark navy pants and leather shoes covered in the same dust from the mausoleums.

Derek breathed in loudly, coming to stand behind the chairs and in front of the open grave. He smiled at Stiles fondly as he spoke, hands resting on the shoulders of the people he had abducted. "I've never done this for anyone else, Stiles. Anyone."

Stiles frowned, still not quite grasping what was going on before a sickening thought struck him. No, no way.

"Happy birthday." Derek grabbed the edges of the bag, dragging them up over the man.

Stiles' eyes roved over the wrinkled suit, the tie that hung askew, the white whiskers of a beard that covered the sharp lines of a jaw wrapped in the same tape Kate wore. Cold, steel blue eyes that only held panic now instead of a promise of punishment looked around wildly before settling on Stiles and widening almost comically as he recognized the hacker.

The hacker stepped backwards until his back hit the adjacent tomb, shaking his head in disbelief and a shock of terror ripping through his guts. No, no, not him, it can't be him, this isn't real-

Alan Carson stared back at him, equally surprised to see him regardless of the present danger he found himself in. The man hadn't aged much more, still looking frightfully similar to all Stiles' nightmares and worst episodes. Even bound and gagged, the fear Carson inspired apparently didn't wane with time. Stiles fought to keep control and stop himself from backsliding into an attack but it just wasn't happening. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath so hard he was in danger of passing out.

"Shh ...I'm here."

Derek ...Derek help me I-

"He can't hurt you. I'm here."

He's right there, he's looking at me, Derek. He's going to hurt me so bad for this i can't i can't-

"He's never going to hurt you again. I won't let him. Come on, Stiles. Come back to me."

Lips were pressed to his, arms encircling him completely and cutting him off from Carson's line of sight. Over and over, he kissed him- his lips, his face, his neck, his hair. Whispered tendrils of words snaked into his ears, assurances, a soothing balm in the form of promises and proclamations.

"W-why? Why?" Stiles croaked out in a sob wrenched from his shuddering body as Derek gently helped him to his feet.

"This is how you heal," Derek murmured in his ear, watching Carson and Kate struggle uselessly in their bonds. "You're only a victim because you let him make you into one, Stiles. You're stronger than him."

"I can't- I can't-"

"You can," Derek's voice was firm, guiding even as it left his side. "We're going to heal tonight. Together." He moved over and ripped the tape off Kate's mouth, smirking at the litanies of curses she immediately began to spew forth at him.

"You fucking crazy-"

"I thought I loved you, once," Derek spoke almost sadly, not bothering to try and be heard over Kate's rage though Stiles could hear every word from where he stood. "I thought we were meant to be together. But now," he looked back at Stiles and gave a small smile. "I know better."

"FUCK YOU, YOU- MMPH-" Derek replaced the tape and shook his head, kneeling down to look Kate in the eyes. He began to whisper something that Stiles couldn't hear, but the hacker was distracted anyway.

Carson stared into his eyes and he couldn't look away. His pulse raced through his veins, his heart beating so hard it almost hurt beneath his newest tattoo. Derek's tattoo. How many times did you fantasize about having Carson at your mercy? How many horrible tortures did you imagine until you couldn't stand to remember anymore?

Something cold was being pressed gently into his hands and Stiles looked down, surprise failing to cut through the numbness he felt, to see his own fingers being curled around Derek's gun.

"No, no, I can't do this-"

Derek leaned closer and kissed him on the mouth, the pressure of his lips soft, warm, inviting. "You can. I know you can. Think of all that he's done to you, Stiles. Think of all the lives he's ruined. He almost ruined yours, but what if I never found you?"

I'd be a mess. I'd be no one. I would be alone.

"We can't let them go. Think of it as erasing him from your life. From the world. You'll erase Carson, I'll erase Kate, and we can go on, together. We can go anywhere we want. We can do anything we want. You won't ever have to be afraid that he's out there, not ever again. We can make a world that's free of people like them, if you want to. Erase him, Stiles, and it'll be as though he never existed."

Derek's whispers pulled taut around his heart like a knot.

"Do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Stiles got the 'D' after all.
> 
> I'm so sorry, I couldn't resist that pun.
> 
> Best birthday present ever, am I right? Anyway, now you know why I had to add an epilogue. Leaving it like that, I'm sure there'd be a mob trying to figure out where I live so they could descend on me with torches and pitchforks. Plus I wanted there to be more of a ...future. A couple more things to tie up and then we're done! The ending is just over this little hill...


	14. Epilogue:  EXIT NOW? UNSAVED CHANGES WILL BE LOST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “and all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
> the way to dusty death. out, out, brief candle!  
> life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,  
> that struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
> and then is heard no more. it is a tale  
> told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
> signifying nothing.”
> 
> \- William Shakespeare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you've (almost) made it to the end! Congratulations!
> 
> It's sort of bittersweet finishing something this long, but also very satisfying. I've had some really good conversations with you guys about this story, mostly its themes and characterizations (see chapter 3 comments in particular), and I am extremely grateful to those who've been offering comments and insights since the beginning- those dialogues gave me the fuel to keep going! So thanks for that. :)
> 
> I'm dying to hear your final thoughts at the end, so please feel free!

**************************************************

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

**************************************************

Crystal unlocked the front door to her tattoo shop, coffee and newspaper precariously balanced in her hands. Nudging it open with her boot, she managed to get inside without dropping anything. She hurriedly closed the door and flipped the sign to ' **OPEN** ', eager to leave the chill of the Winter outside.

It was usually slower for business in the Winter months, especially in Beacon City. She guessed it was because people weren't eager to brave the snow or the cold. Once the Spring came she would receive floods of clients, eager to get their ink done and healed by the time the warm weather came so they could show it off. For now though, she could spend most of the day drawing and waiting for the odd customer to show up.

She flipped on the lights and turned on the small heater, allowing her work space to warm up while she stashed her coat and made some breakfast. In the back, there was a small room barely bigger than a closet where a toaster and kettle waited for her each morning. She hummed a song under her breath, buttering a bagel to go along with her coffee.

Predictably, the bell above the door stayed silent. As the snow slowly fell outside, she sighed and resigned herself to a quiet morning alone. Settling down, she opened the morning paper and started to scan through the latest news Beacon City had to offer her.

Her lips curled as she passed the first few pages, the infamous scandal of Mayor Argent still apparently newsworthy as 'new details' came forth, though he was now thankfully relocated off the front page. Crystal shook her head gratefully- just thinking of the situation made her sad for all the lives the man had ruined during his term, let alone before that. She didn't even want to think about it.

As she turned onto the last few pages of the general section, looking forward to the comics with a childish, slightly guilty pleasure, she paused.

'SON OF BEACON POLICE DEPARTMENT CHIEF STILL MISSING-'

Below, a black and white picture of the boy glared sullenly up at her. She worried her lip ring between her teeth- something about him seemed so familiar. He did have some ink poking out above his collar, she reasoned it was possible she could have tattooed him at some point. She started to turn the page but flipped back at it and studied the picture again carefully. A sick feeling came over her as she made the connection. '...little evidence to go on though Chief Stilinski insists his son was kidnapped ...'

"Oh god," Crystal muttered to the empty parlor. "Oh god."

She fumbled for her phone, withdrawing it from her sweater with shaking hands.

**************************************************

"Something on your mind? Scott?"

Scott blinked, unaware how deeply he had been oblivious to the world outside his thoughts. "No, no everything's fine."

Allison frowned, taking his hand in her own. "You can talk to me, you know." She sighed. "You've been ...really great since everything happened with my Dad and- I wouldn't have gotten through it without you. I'm here for all your problems too, okay?"

The boy smiled, pulling her closer as they cuddled on the couch. Some movie was playing on the television but neither of them were really watching it or had any idea what was going on.

"It's Stiles, isn't it?"

Scott nodded after a moment, brows furrowed as if it were some riddle he couldn't solve. "I just ...I know he's gone, but ..."

Allison nodded in understanding, looking as tired as he felt. "You want closure."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You can't blame yourself. Stiles made his own choices. It's like me and ...my Dad. It's just like you said, sometimes people just make bad choices and you can't change their minds."

Scott sighed and nodded again though he didn't look convinced. "You're right."

Together they watched the rain beat against the windows in a steady drum, a world outside of of muted grey skies and dark clouds on the horizon.

**************************************************

The waves lapped at the edges of the beach almost lazily, a slow rocking leaving a darkened curve of wet sand behind. The sun beat down, bright and glorious with heat, on the people swimming in the water, stretched out on towels and watching their children play in the sand.

Under a large yellow umbrella, three towels were laid out next to each other. On the middle one, a girl with long blonde hair sat as she sipped the last of some sort of fancy drink. She stared silently out at the ocean through big sunglasses, listening to the calming sound of the shifting water while she thought.

Beside her, her boyfriend was stretched out and appeared to be asleep. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in a steady, peaceful rhythm. Their companion who claimed ownership of the other towel was at the bar a short distance away getting them fresh refills.

"We shouldn't have left him."

Boyd didn't open his eyes as he replied in a sleepy rumble. "We had to."

"That's bullshit," Erica set the empty glass down roughly, digging it into the sand beside her. "We could've done more."

"Like what?"

"Like ...something!" She scowled. "We should've done anything but just ...leave."

Boyd grimaced as he sat up, squinting in the sunlight as he looked at his girlfriend seriously. "We did what we could. It's done now anyway- there's no going back there."

"Guys?" Isaac returned, three fresh cocktails clutched awkwardly. "Everything alright?"

Even in the bright sunshine, there was a hidden, tense unhappiness that threatened to break through.

"Gimme that," Erica demanded with a smile that felt hollow as she reached out for a glass. "Everything's ... everything's fine."

**************************************************

Rosalyn Wells slowly typed away on her computer, a glass of wine nearby that she nursed as she wrote. The arthritis made it hard to get much done in a day but she was persevering the best she could. It was a paper she was writing for one of the smaller psychiatric magazines. Since she retired, it was one of the few things related to her former profession she still dabbled in from time to time. In the background, she could hear her granddaughters playing in the other room. It was a peaceful sound that soothed her nerves in the way an empty, quiet house could not.

She paused mid-sentence, letting the wine swirl around on her tongue as she thought. Her main point of discussion was the examination of the mental and emotional tolls mental health professionals struggle with in their line of work. Of course, writing along those lines she couldn't help but think of the boy she tried to help all those years ago. After all, his was the case that was the final push she needed towards retirement.

Upstairs, on a shelf in her closet, there was a box. Inside the box were old photos, mementos of a long life and treasured memories. Hidden underneath was a small blue journal only slightly worn with time. She didn't often see it- her back was getting worse and it was becoming a daily struggle, but every now and then when her children visited, she would ask them to take it down so she could revisit the past. It was something she would do after they left, a private moment where she could cry freely without alarming her family.

She would sit at her kitchen table, a full glass of wine present for the moral support that was needed, and read. The inside pages were dotted with smudges and crinkled circles from her own tears but she had read the insides enough to know every word. They had wanted to take the journal as evidence after the trial but she couldn't part with it. It had taken some time, but after heated insistence the police had settled for a photocopied version much to her relief. Having a friend on the force in the form of John Stilinski turned out to be useful in that regard.

Again and again, Rosalyn read through it, tracing the development through her mind. It seemed to be going so well about mid-way through: Stiles was speaking, actually carrying on full, if somewhat sparse, conversations with her. It looked like he were well down the road of progress. Even now the guilt licked at her and she turned back to her computer screen resolutely, re-reading what she had just written. At the very least, her experience would be a good centerpiece for the cautionary tale she was crafting.

The hurried patters of small feet behind her distracted Rosalyn before she could continue her work.

"Grandma! Are you still working?"

She turned, a smile on her face at the interruption. "Yes, Grandma's still working, my love, my dove." The little girl giggled at the pet name. "Are you sharing toys with Jordan, Chelsea?"

"Yes, Grandma," the girl sighed dramatically as if she were managing to do a very difficult thing. "I'm sharing with Jordan. Can we play in the yard? I want to make a snowman!"

Rosalyn couldn't help but chuckle softly at her infectious excitement. "Alright, go collect your sister and get your coats on."

"Yay!" Chelsea squealed and scampered away, calling her sister's name.

"Hats and mittens too now, you hear?" Rosalyn yelled halfheartedly after her. She shook her head fondly, reaching for her cane and hobbling over through the kitchen to inspect her grandchildren as they got ready to go outside.

"Can we go now, Grandma? Please?" Jordan, a year younger than her sister and already learning the right expressions to pull at her helpless Grandmother's heart strings.

Rosalyn laughed. "Yes, yes, go on. Not too close to the road either, girls."

"We won't!" They chorused in unison, shrieking and laughing as they opened the front door to find a yard full of fluffy snow, perfect for their purposes.

The old woman turned back to retreat into the warmth of her home when Chelsea piped up behind her.

"Grandma! You got mail!"

Rosalyn paused, curious at the statement. If she was remembering correctly, the mail didn't come on Sundays. "Do I now? Would you be a good girl and get Grandma's mail for her? It's a little too cold for me out there."

The little girl took off towards the mailbox where sure enough, the little red flag signified that she had indeed received something. Rosalyn watched her carefully withdraw a small cardboard box and return, hopping in the footsteps she had made in the snow.

"Thank you, dear. Go play with your sister, and come back inside before you turn into a little icicle. We'll make some hot chocolate later." Rosalyn winked at her granddaughter and closed the door behind her. She smiled at the sounds of them playing in the snow and carried the package over to her kitchen counter with a hum.

It was a plain box with no return address written on it from what she could see. "How strange," she murmured to herself, carefully slicing open the packing tape that held it together with a kitchen knife. She couldn't help but let out a gasp as she opened the flaps.

Inside, bundles of hundred dollar bills were crammed in tight bundles layered over each other. In the center was a piece of paper that Rosalyn withdrew and unfolded with a tremble in her hands she couldn't attribute to her arthritis.

' **thank you** '

Her heart pounded as she leaned against the counter, staring at the large amount of money that was apparently now hers and no peculiar serendipity. She struggled to comprehend who would've sent her such a gift when a funny feeling struck her- a blue journal hidden away came to mind for some reason.

"Look at all the money!"

Apparently the mystery package was much more interesting than the snow outside. Chelsea and Jordan crowded her on either side, on their tiptoes and looking into the box with wide-eyed wonder. They had tracked snow into the house and left small watery puddles behind them but she couldn't bring herself to care in the moment.

"Who sent it? Was it a boy?" Jordan asked, eyes wide.

Rosalyn laughed weakly, shaking her head. "I don't think so, dear."

"Well," Chelsea gravely informed her, matter-of-factly. "I think it was, Grandma. I think it's a boy who likes you."

Tears began to prickle at the corners of her eyes and Rosalyn took off her glasses, hugging her grandchildren close to her.

"You know what? I think you might be right."

**************************************************

"Are you coming to bed tonight or what?"

Danny shivered as his boyfriend murmured beside his ear, draping himself over his shoulders. The computer in front of him shone brightly, bathing them in a bright white glow. "Yeah, be there in five."

Ethan shook his head and gave his best pout. "Five minutes or five hours?"

Danny laughed as he shooed the other away. "Minutes, I promise."

As Ethan withdrew to their bedroom, Danny looked at the time and rubbed his eyes with a soft groan. His current workload was piling up and it had been keeping him working late into the night to assure it remained at manageable levels.

Normally it would've been welcome along with the money it'd net him, but after his main client had a meltdown three months ago, he was in dire need of a vacation with the stress it brought.

Watching the news as it broke, he had felt like he was going to throw up. The man he had been working for was ...a monster, the accusations that were later proven true- every single one of them, floored him. For weeks afterwards he had been despondent with shame and guilt, a fresh wave of it coming on when he wondered if there was anything linking him to the Mayor's crimes. He of course had no hand in them, but in his line of work the law rarely was on his side.

He told himself it would be only fair to let things fall into place as they would and tried not to worry as best he could. Soon enough, however, he started to dig through the events happening in Beacon City. Here and there he scoured any trace of his work that had been left behind in the rubble of Argent's quickly-crumbling empire. The further back he went through the trails of the Mayor's businesses, the more oddities he found.

Currently he was reading through police reports he had obtained, ones that described a series of break ins- the most notable and the one Danny was particularly interested in was a robbery at the bank Argent owned, Kleiner Danson. It was just a couple weeks before the allegations of human trafficking and other smuggling operations came out, and the timing of it had struck him a little curious.

According to the report, no one had been caught and the police only had a vague list of suspects that only accounted for a token group of thugs- people who had committed other crimes around the same time period. He glanced at the clock again, promising himself he'd skim over the list of suspects for interest's sake and turn the computer off. He sighed as he opened the file, stretching his sore neck and making a firm decision that Ethan willing, he really needed to get laid tonight.

Browsing through the list, he found himself rereading names and staring blankly at pictures of strangers. His vision was starting to blur and a headache hadn't started but he figured it was lurking around the corner. He was about to give up for the night when he scrolled to the bottom of the list and something caught his tired eyes. He did a double take at the picture, even five years later knowing that sullen glare and bright brown eyes immediately.

"Stiles?" He whispered, hardly able to believe what he was looking at.

"Danny!" Ethan grumbled from the other room.

"Be right there!" He called back, his heart racing and fingers a blur as he logged onto The Grey Collective. It was one part message board, one part forum, and one part hub for hackers and information dealers of every sort. It was a fairly exclusive group but you were generally welcome once you proved you were talented enough to warrant interest. Luckily, Danny had a lot to contribute.

Danny stared at the picture, his mind already jumping to connections regarding the break in. If anyone could hack their systems and disable security, he would bet on Stiles. He remembered at Elmond House, the bright sparks of intelligence in Stiles' eyes as he soaked up everything Danny would teach him like a sponge. He quickly created a short post on the message boards:

**[OP]: KING_ARTHUR (01/07/2013 01:34:45)**

**= >Looking for "Stiles" Stilinski, possibly living in Beacon City, CA. Any info appreciated.**

He sat for a few minutes more, refreshing the page and seeing if anyone replied. All the different time zones represented made it hard to predict when someone would get back to you. He settled on one more time- if he received no reply, he'd call it a night and that would be that.

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:38:13)**

**= >who wants to know?**

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:38:20)**

**= >wait. i recognize your username. you worked for argent didn't you? today isn't your lucky day, pal.**

Danny frowned at the screen, a little uneasy at the stranger's knowledge of his past exploits. He also observed the thread setting was now a private message between the two of them, though he himself didn't change it.

**[RE]: KING_ARTHUR [OP] to BLUESCREENOFDEATH (01/07/2013 01:38:52)**

**= >Yes I worked for him briefly but nothing illegal, just security measures. Do you know where I can find Stiles or not? I'm a friend of his and I think he's in trouble.**

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:39:15)**

**= >i doubt that on all counts, so any last words?**

The ominous words sent a chill down his back.

**[RE]: KING_ARTHUR [OP] to BLUESCREENOFDEATH (01/07/2013 01:39:39)**

**= >Look, if you know him or know how to contact him, just tell him Danny wants to talk to him. Please.**

Minutes went by and he was sure the person he was talking to had left before a reply finally came through.

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:45:24)**

**= >danny who? from desmond house?**

Danny's brow furrowed, confused for a moment. Elmond House was likely the place the stranger referred to but was it a simple mistake or was he being tested?

**[RE]: KING_ARTHUR [OP] to BLUESCREENOFDEATH (01/07/2013 01:45:37)**

**= >No, from Elmond House.**

Again, a longer pause.

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:50:02)**

**= >so what did you want to talk about?**

He blinked, rubbing his eyes and typed back excitedly.

**[RE]: KING_ARTHUR [OP] to BLUESCREENOFDEATH (01/07/2013 01:50:14)**

**= >Stiles! Is that really you?**

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:50:25)**

**= >yeah. its really me.**

**[RE]: KING_ARTHUR [OP] to BLUESCREENOFDEATH (01/07/2013 01:50:36)**

**= >It's been a while! What's going on in Beacon City? Looks a little intense, hope you're not too wrapped up in it.**

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:50:49)**

**= >its a long story.**

**[RE]: KING_ARTHUR [OP] to BLUESCREENOFDEATH (01/07/2013 01:50:58)**

**= >I'd like to hear it, maybe over coffee? If you're still living there, I'm not too far away. I can drive in, spend the day, you can show me around??**

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:52:10)**

**= >thats not a good idea.**

**[RE]: KING_ARTHUR [OP] to BLUESCREENOFDEATH (01/07/2013 01:52:20)**

**= >What?! Why not??**

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:53:01)**

**= >i shouldn't have replied, this was a mistake. do me a favor danny, don't try and find me again okay?**

**[RE]: KING_ARTHUR [OP] to BLUESCREENOFDEATH (01/07/2013 01:53:11)**

**= >Stiles we haven't seen each other in five years, you can't disappear again now! I never thought I'd see you again!**

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:53:34)**

**= >i know. i'm sorry. take care of yourself okay?**

**[RE]: KING_ARTHUR [OP] to BLUESCREENOFDEATH (01/07/2013 01:53:45)**

**= >Stiles wait!!!**

He began to open programs, hoping to somehow trace the other computer and Stiles' location, almost getting there when he got another reply.

**[RE]: BLUESCREENOFDEATH to KING_ARTHUR [OP] (01/07/2013 01:53:57)**

**= >can't let you do that. sorry about your computer...**

Danny's heart thumped in his chest as the window closed itself much to his alarm. He made a sound of distress as all his programs followed suit and every file began to delete itself in a wave of digital destruction. He hammered the keys furiously, trying to fight whatever virus Stiles had introduced to his system as they spoke but it was to avail. As the screen faded to black, he sat in a stunned amazement. Apparently the student had long since surpassed the master.

In the other room the sounds of Ethan snoring on came to him, peaceful and unaware.

**************************************************

John Stilinski all but collapsed in his study, hands slightly shaking as he reached for the bottle of whiskey. The amber liquid had become his closest companion the last few months and he welcomed its presence as gladly as ever.

Everything he had worked for since he moved with Stiles to Beacon City was in tatters. The police force had all but dissolved under a federal investigation, the exposure of the corruption Argent had wrought too deep to ignore. Men he had worked with for years were being fired at an alarming rate.

He had returned from a morning of exhausting interviews with the cold, uncaring FBI who seemed determined to find proof he was involved with the former Mayor's madness. Eventually they had sent him home and he welcomed the solitude. It had been the longest expanse of time he'd been sober in a while and once the whiskey coated his tongue he could feel himself relax back into the chair.

The giant cork board that took up most of one wall was covered in pictures of his son. He could barely stand to be there with multiple pairs of Stiles' eyes glaring down at him. As difficult as it was though, he stayed. Somehow the mugshots were easier to bear than old family photos, depressing reminders of happier times from a life long since past.

His daily routine had become this torture he could only endure in a near drunken stupor. Under a wall of his failures, he attacked himself over and over again, listed the ways he had failed his son with a precision he was dully surprised sometimes he could manage. All the questions he asked himself weren't designed to find answers, only to merely stir the self-loathing that had become the primary facet of his existence.

How many times had he had his suspicions about Carson and didn't act on them? Even after Stiles left, even while he saw Doctor Wells, it still didn't sink in just how damaged Stiles had become. He should've known there was something seriously wrong, he should've been more of a parent, a better father.

John's police badge seemed to mock him from the edge of the table. With a snarl he slapped it off the top with his hand, watching it bounce off the wall and fall to the floor. That badge and the responsibilities that came with it had come between him and his child. He had taken the job to heart, buried himself in it- it was no wonder Stiles had turned away from him.

All he wanted was another chance: a chance to tell his son he had messed up. There was no hope of starting over. He knew now that the scars ran deep, too deep to trivialize by sweeping them under the rug, but maybe they could rebuild what was left. The desperation in his thoughts forced tears down his face, tears he thought he had already cried the last of when Elaine died. It had been months without him and he just wanted Stiles back, so badly it hurt every cell in his body.

Fumbling absently to refill his glass, John accidentally knocked the bottle over. He winced as it broke open on the floor, glass and liquor spilling, mixing together.

"Goddamn it." He cursed though he made no move to clean the mess up. Instead he looked again to the wall of information with a clumsy drive suddenly revving like an engine inside him. Although it had probably driven his son away into the clutches of- he could only imagine, there was something better he could be doing rather than feeling sorry for himself and drinking himself to death. He could use that addiction to work and put it to use.

He stood up, walking unconcerned of the glass through the puddle inching across the floor, and started grabbing papers off the wall. He was going to pour through every report, every rumor, every sighting until he found a clue, a connection, anything.

"I'm going to find you, Stiles. I swear it."

**************************************************

The gun was heavy in his hand, a weight he wasn't expecting. He didn't drop it- only because Derek's fingers curled themselves over his own, the warmth of their skin gradually taking away the chill of the metal.

"Do it." He whispered in Stiles' ear, a command in the form of a lover's purr.

Carson continued to stare at him like he was some long forgotten nightmare just now surfacing from the black waters of their past. There was an uncharacteristic fear present in his cold eyes, a lack of power or certainty.

Derek left his side then, strode forward and ripped the tape off Carson's mouth, ignoring Kate's presence altogether. He stood there, watching Stiles calmly and waiting.

The trepidation he felt, watching Carson wince as the gag was removed, skyrocketed and he quickly grasped the gun with both shaking hands.

"St-Stilinski." The man croaked out with a rusty voice that stumbled ever so slightly.

It was like all the fears and memories he had tried to repress and forget came tunneling back into his soul. Stiles inhaled sharply, feeling as though the wind was knocked out of him at the sound of his anxieties made flesh.

Carson seemed to be trying to rein himself in, speaking in a clearly enunciated voice that was a fair imitation of calm. "Young man, you're already in serious trouble-"

Derek snorted over his shoulder.

"-and you need to let me go at once before this gets any worse for you."

Stiles inched forward slowly as his previous anger began to froth and bubble. The Doctor was attempting to control him, even now, even after all those years gone by. He looked to Derek who nodded, Derek who looked at him with such fondness, Derek who was ...delivering this opportunity to him. He looked down at the weapon he clutched and seriously considered shoving the barrel in his mouth.

"No, Stiles."

He looked up, Derek staring back into his eyes as if he knew what he had been thinking, mouth a disappointed line that he couldn't begin to bear.

"He's not worth it."

Derek was right. Of course, he was right. He nodded to himself slowly, wiping the sweat off his palms, carefully passing the gun between his hands. That was what Carson wanted: the ultimate act of giving up completely. The anger cracked and snapped like burning wood at the realization. It wasn't enough that he had sullied his mind and body, now he wanted his life.

"You listen to me-" Carson began.

Stiles whispered to him, not even hearing the man as his eyes fixed themselves on the gun he held. "I've been s-scared of you my whole life. I don't know w-what it's like to live without it."

"You have that chance now." Derek egged him on in a low murmur he could barely hear over his pounding heart.

"You took everything from me," Stiles continued, voice steadily gaining volume as his eyes teared up with the emotional storm he found himself in. "You tortured me, RAPED ME-"

Derek's eyes glittered as he raged on.

"You took my only real friend away from me. You left me with ...with nothing." He shakily raised the gun, teardrops spilling freely now. "How many others were there?"

Carson glared at him, lips tight together.

"HOW MANY?" He screamed, spittle flying out of his quivering mouth.

"I don't know." The Doctor spoke clearly, eyes narrowed with hatred.

"He lost count, Stiles." Derek said, looking down at the bound man impassively as he spoke. "There's been so many he can't even make a guess."

Something within him, some cracked door the terror had slipped through all the years past, slammed shut. A tornado of fury, pain, loss, sadness ripped out of him in the form of a guttural sound. He closed the distance, slamming the gun into Carson's face as Derek stepped back, watching.

The blood that gushed from Carson's possibly broken nose gave him a twinge of satisfaction that continued to bloom into a feeling that spread from limb to limb. It was vindication and discovery, righteous and terrible. It was the feeling of having power for the first time in his whole life, the power to finally take control.

Stiles didn't think about it any longer. The back legs of the chair Carson sat in were already on the edge of the hole that Derek had prepared. All he had to do was ...push. The wooden legs splintered and cracked under the weight of Carson falling on top of them, the man groaning as he struggled weakly on top of the broken pieces. The dirt of the grave was moist and already clinging to his suit. Looking down, tempered with a disgust he allowed to wash over him, Stiles threw the gun to his feet.

Derek was there in an instant. He hugged Stiles tightly from behind, peppering the side of his neck with soft kisses. "I'm so proud of you."

"I didn't ...I didn't do anything." Stiles choked out, the burning anger leaving in a rush with only a cold emptiness behind.

"You made a choice." Derek mused as they both watched Carson attempt to climb in panic. The effort was in vain- the hole was too deep and he was still cuffed. "The right choice. It would've been too quick otherwise."

With that he walked over and using his foot he tipped Kate over, chair and all, into the hole to join their other captive. He grinned down at them before turning back to Stiles who was holding the gun again and aiming it at Derek as steadily as he could.

"Stiles. What are you doing?" Derek smiled, unconcerned as he stepped closer.

"Don't," Stiles swallowed, shaking his head. "Stay back, Derek."

"Don't stay back?" Derek joked. "You're not going to shoot me."

"I will!" Stiles shook the weapon threateningly. "I'm- I'm leaving, Derek. I can't do this. I'm-"

"Where will you go?"

Another step closer.

"Who else is going to take care of you like I will?"

"I m-mean it, Derek-"

"I love you."

Stiles blinked, started to cry at that, the sobs wracking his body as he struggled to keep the gun upright but Derek was there, so close the barrel was sticking into his stomach.

"I love you, Stiles. So much- more than you'll ever know. I know you love me too. Now give me the gun."

The hacker released it in a second, collapsing to his knees in the wet grassy soil and sobbing so hard he shook.

"You don't have to do anything else. I'll take care of everything." Derek gently stroked his hair before grabbing the shovel and digging into the pile of dirt.

Stiles sat there numbly, watching but not really seeing as Derek slowly filled the grave back in. Carson and Kate stopped making noise after a while. Shortly after that the soil Derek threw in stopped shifting and moving with their frantic motions of attempted escape. He watched the shovel come down, smooth the dirt over into a flat layer, pat it down once, twice, and then it was done. It was done forever.

Derek knelt down next to him, took him back into an embrace he welcomed even as he cried between gritted teeth.

"You- I hate you. I hate you!"

"No you don't, Stiles. You love me."

Stiles wept, knowing all the while that he was right. "You made me- I didn't- I couldn't-"

"No," Derek smiled into his hair. "You got there all on your own."

A hand curled around the bottom of his jaw, pulling his face up and allowing his lips to be taken. It wasn't like their past kisses, so tentative and seemingly fearful Stiles would break under them. Derek claimed his mouth, the connection deepening as his tongue sought entrance that the boy surrendered without resistance.

He was pushed down, down on top of the freshly dug grave, and Derek's body covered his own. Their lips crashed together and Stiles lost himself in that moment, kissing back as best he could under Derek's dominating movements. Hands shot up the inside of his shirt, seeking his unseen skin. He groaned, almost missing the words Derek spoke in hot, rasping whispers in his ear.

"You love me don't you?"

"I- I- no! I hate you!"

Derek lips silenced him briefly, his mouth hot and wanting. "You love me. You'll love me forever."

"F-fuck you!" The dirt was cool on the back of his bare skin, the contrast with the heat from Derek's skin on his own almost unbearable. Derek's hands and mouth coaxed wanton, needful sounds from him but he was long past caring. The fear and stress of the night was swallowed up bit by bit, dissolved like sugar in water.

"I- I love y-you," Stiles finally panted out. "I lo-love-"

Stiles cried out as Derek's teeth sunk into his throat. The friction between between them was driving him insane. Above them, before he shut his eyes tight, he could see the sky was filled with tiny white stars. Stars that seemed to blur and disappear behind the veil of his tears, fading to black behind his eyelids. There was only darkness now- and the man who brought him there.

"Forever," Derek breathed out, kissing his swollen lips. "Forever."

Tomorrow, their lives would begin anew. All he had to do was give an answer.

"Forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one last quick note or two...
> 
> I do have another story (possibly as epic in length, bluh) slowly taking shape, but I wanted to see if anyone had any prompts they'd like to see- knowing my writing style. I'd like to briefly describe a couple options and see what demand there is:
> 
> -My largish story idea is a science fiction AU that is tentatively titled 'Synthetica'. I have a rough story outline already planned but it's fairly far in the future, Stiles may or may not be a junkie, it'll be slightly more upbeat than BV (can you believe that?)
> 
> -The other overt option is a continuation of my demon!Stiles ficlet, 'Ceremonials'. If you haven't read that, it's short, give it a read and let me know what you think.
> 
> Otherwise, all prompts/ideas/etc. can be suggested via comment here, on Tumblr (my tag is whokilledcodyosmond of course), or via email (whokilledcodyosmond@gmail.com) if you're shy and want to remain relatively anonymous. I'm open to just about anything, any subject, any kink, whatever. It can be as explicit or tame as you'd like, but be warned I probably can't manage a whole fic of anything too fluffy- it's just not in me. :(
> 
> Thank you!  
> xo


End file.
